


Breathe Easy, Class E2

by jadedcrystalide



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Depression, High School AU, M/M, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, basically Viktor is a cover teacher who wants to help his class of fucked up students, chris is the sex ed teacher, it mostly focuses around him helping yuri, who is Very Mentally Ill and cant open up to people and has self harm problems and an abusive mother, yuuri is the counsellor at the school
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-11 05:43:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 50,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedcrystalide/pseuds/jadedcrystalide
Summary: Teaching had been Viktor's dream career for years, and when he finally landed a job, he didn't expect his first and only class to be full of fucked-up teenagers who were intent on making his job hell. But no one else would come within a mile radius of class E2, so Viktor forced himself to stay.Soon, his concern gravitated towards a small blond boy who wore eyes of fire and scars on his arms and wouldn't let anyone help him.(angsty High School AU- all pupils are characters from the show. Chris is the sex ed teacher).





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyy  
> So I wanted to do a high school AU, but i was bored of the usual type of plots so i wanted to make a super angsty one. Basically Viktor is a cover teacher at a new school, and his class are most of the show characters (aged 16-19 because most of them were held back a few years, aged down if needed). It focuses on Yuri mostly, with Viktor trying to help him because he's having bad trouble at home. Yuuri is the school therapist and Viktor's partner in secret, Chris is the sex ed teacher. Basically its a huge mess.
> 
> Big trigger warnings for self harm, depression, abusive parents, your general angsty stuff.
> 
> This is kinda a test chapter so please let me know if yall want me to carry on??

The peeling paint, crumbling staircase, and sobbing woman he encountered while walking up the main corridor didn’t exactly paint positive pictures in Viktor’s head as he tried to navigate his way to main reception. For some reason the staff members tried to change his mind when he dropped in his application form at the school a couple of weeks ago, but he had persisted, so here he was. Viktor Nikiforov: newly qualified cover teacher at Sandbrook High. He didn’t understand what all the fuss was about.

Teaching had been his dream career since he was a teenager, and now it had finally come true. His work timetable detailed that he would be working primarily in class E2, which was strange; didn’t cover teachers usually hop around from class to class depending on teacher availability? Unless this class had a teacher who was sick or on holiday. Either way, he was excited to make friends with the pupils and make his employers thankful that they had given him a chance.

Luckily he managed to find the reception fairly quickly, and put on his most cheerful heart-shaped smile as he approached the woman sitting slumped at her desk. She had bleached hair that was pulled back by a headband and was glaring at the magazine below her, looking like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Viktor said, smiling at the woman- who’s name badge gave away that she was in fact called ‘Mari’- and pulling his ID out of his coat pocket.

She looked up at him, blinked wearily, and put her pen down with a sigh. Not exactly the most professional behaviour, but these were his co-workers and he wasn’t about to judge them at first glance.

“You here to pick up a kid? That brat Johnson? He’s in the sick bay.” Mari asked him and jerked her head to the side to indicate the room she was referring to.

“No, actually. I’m here as a cover teacher.”

“Come again?”

“Viktor Nikiforov?” Viktor handed her his ID as well as the letter of acceptance that came in the mail a few days previously. Two women who were working behind Mari suddenly froze and turned towards him, sharing equal glances of concern. As much as he hated making assumptions, Viktor couldn’t deny that this place was unlike any other school he had visited. It seemed like the staff members were constantly either on edge or desperate to go home and preferably never come back. The principle who had interviewed him, Mr Feltsman, seemed like he was purposely trying to convince Viktor to turn around and try someplace else. Someone who wasn’t as passionate as he was would have gave up weeks ago.

Mari glanced briefly over the papers and made a displeased sound at the back of her throat, then handed them back and stared at him through narrowed eyes.

“There’s only one class in this entire school that needs a cover teacher, and I don’t think someone like _you…”_ she didn’t disguise her disgust as her eyes swept over him “could handle them. Are you sure you got confirmation from the principle, Yakov Feltsman?”

Any other time he would have pointed out such blatant rudeness, but he only had one chance here. Instead he willed his smile to stay put and nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Class E2, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Let me see your timetable.” Mari demanded, handing her hand out and not leaving much room for debate. The two women behind her were still staring, though their faces had lost the expression of shock and had instead been replaced by one of horror. Once again, Viktor let the receptionist look through his papers and supressed the urge to ask what the problem was.

“You’re scheduled for class E2 pretty much all week…. Except for a block on Thursday where you’re teaching C4, but that’s only because the sex education teacher comes in on Thursdays to E2. Not that he makes any difference.” The last sentence was muttered and concealed under the rustling of papers as Mari handed the letter back to him, along with a single silver key. “That’s the key to the classroom, make sure to lock it up at breaks and once school has ended, but trust me, I doubt you’ll be needing it for long.” She turned back to her magazine and Viktor took that as a sign that he was dismissed.

_“Such a nice looking fellow. Foreign, too. I hope they don’t drive him out like they did with all the others.”_

_“Don’t be optimistic, he’ll hardly last an hour.”_

He only just heard the exchange between the two other women as he began to head in the direction of the E block, and their words did nothing to settle the apprehension growing in his stomach.

“They’re a bunch of kids, Viktor. You’re being silly.” He firmly told himself, and was about to start listing off the reasons why he wanted the job so badly when he turned a corner and was met with a bright red banner which had the letter ‘E’ embroidered onto it. This must be the E block.

Finding the second classroom was easy- it was just a few metres away to the right of E1- but before he turned the handle, Viktor stopped and…. _Listened._ And was met with silence. Blocks A through D seemed to be constantly bustling with noise, the laughter and shouting of children echoed off the walls and undoubtedly drove the teachers crazy, however it was pleasing to hear. The heart and life of a school was the sound of pupils of all ages enjoying themselves, and Sandbrook High held kids from infancy up until their late teens. Block E in comparison sounded like a wasteland.

That is until a huge bang from inside the classroom made Viktor flinch and step back, sounding alien in amongst the silence. The bang was followed by a chorus of laughs from voices that sounded predominantly male, and definitely on the older side of the kids who were taught here.

Any thoughts of teaching cute, naïve ten-year-olds flew out of the window.

Taking a final deep breath, he placed his hand on the metal door handle, and twisted it open before he could find any reason not to.

The scene inside was like something out of a war photography magazine: tables lay on their sides, papers were scattered across the floor, the curtains were hanging off their railings and the blinds were so ripped that they looked more like rags than something you’d use to keep the sun out. In University they’d taught Viktor that classrooms were always colourful and walls were plastered with display boards, pupil’s work and education materials. Here it seemed to be the exact opposite: it wouldn’t have been too bad if they were just plain white, but instead the walls were a gross grey colour and patches of plaster could be seen from where it had peeled away. If he’d turned his head he’d be able to see a huge penis graffitied behind the door, accompanied with the caption ‘Guang Hong sucks cock 2k17’ and a badly drawn picture of the flag of China.

But the décor was the second thing Viktor noticed; the first was the students. There weren’t many of them, granted, maybe 10 or so, however they seemed to fill the space very sufficiently. A handful were sitting on the floor or leaning against the walls, laughing amongst each other and showing one another images on their phones. One or two sat alone and seemed to melt into the background as if they were desperate to stay out of the way and not be associated with the environment around them. In the corner, a short, skinny girl stood on a table and seemed to be glaring down at a terrified-looking boy below her. Whoever she was, she clearly had some authority over the group- and this sight made Viktor spring into action.

“Hey! You! Off the table, now!” He demanded, putting on his best authoritative teacher voice and pointing a finger in the direction of the girl. If he’d expected an immediate response he was going to be very disappointed.

“Who the fuck are you?” A deep voice growled in his direction, and Viktor was glad that he didn’t outwardly gender this person because now he was facing him, it was evident that he was a guy. The blond hair that hung to his shoulders had been off-putting, as had his small structure and apparent fragility, however it was obvious now that this boy wasn’t someone who was going to be told what to do. Viktor swallowed and tried not to be put off.

“I’m your new cover teacher.” The smile had slipped off his face the moment he entered the E block, and in its place had formed a grimace which only deepened as the rest of the pupils slowly turned their attention to him, one by one. Usually Viktor hated deviating from his trademark charm and flattery, although occasionally he could be very blunt and intimidating. It seemed like that was the attitude to take from now on.

“Cover teacher? Oooooo.” A boy in the corner mocked, waving his fingers in a pantomime expression of seeing a ghost. He was met with another chorus of laughs and Viktor was very quickly beginning to lose control.

“What are you gonna cover, dude? That huge bald patch on your head?”

It was clear that none of these students had been disciplined before, not by a teacher and definitely not by their parents or carers or whoever looked after them. Judging by a scruffy-looking boy who looked like he hadn’t brushed his hair for weeks, Viktor probably wouldn’t be incorrect in assuming that some of them didn’t _have_ parents.

The blond boy still hadn’t stepped down from the table, and was looking at Viktor with a mocking smirk, as if he could read his mind. Below him stood another boy, different than the one that the blond had been terrorising; he looked maybe a couple of years older, appeared to be Asian and wore a leather jacket that was most definitely against dress code. Learning the names of these students was something he had to do before he even _began_ to earn their respect… but in order to talk to them, he’d have to get them to listen.

“Listen to me, all of you.” Viktor said with a raised voice. “It seems like no-one else in 20 miles wants to take on this class. That much was evident by the surprise in the principles voice when I called in asking for the job. I’m certain all of you are worth the effort, but we need to work together. And that can start with putting these tables upright.” A wave of his hands towards the upturned furniture caught the attention of everyone else who had tuned out his words. “And then we can get to know more about each other.”

“Yeah, I’m sure JJ would _love_ that, he can’t stop talking about himself.”

“Shut the fuck up Mila!”

Viktor quickly sensed a fight breaking out between the red-headed girl- Mila, he presumed- and one of the boys who was slumped against the wall at the back of the class. He must have been JJ. Viktor slammed his palm against the nearest wooden surface and didn’t hesitate to raise his voice again.

“Get a move on, now! And you: get off the table!”

Surprisingly, they cooperated without much of a struggle. Their efforts to arrange the tables into neat rows was disastrous, but at least they weren’t on their sides any more, a development that Viktor wasn’t going to complain about. They had probably been assigned a seating plan at some point, which was obviously not even considered as they seated themselves wherever they felt like it.

The blond boy and the Asian boy had sat down far away from the rest of the class. Viktor really had to learn these kids’ names. Referring to them based on hair colour or race wasn’t the most professional thing to do.

“Okay, thank you. I’ll start. My name is Viktor, but you can call me Mr Nikiforov-“

“Bless you.”

“-or sir. Sir will be fine.” He resisted the urge to narrow his eyes as the messy-haired boy who was grinning at him from his seat by the graffitied penis.

“I wish to know all of your names, so we’ll start with the obvious one. Who is Guang Hong, and why is there a dick around his name on the wall?”

The victim was easily identified by his bright red face and the jeers that were aimed in his direction. Poor guy, he was clearly an outlier among the bullies that surrounded him, and Viktor hoped that he wasn’t ridiculed too much. It was his duty as their teacher to care for his pupils and defend them from being the butt of a joke. Guang Hong looked to be the same person that the blond boy was scowling at when Viktor walked in. 

“… Lovely. Well, nice to meet you Guang Hong. You, what’s your name?” He pointed to the messy-haired boy.

“Emil. Nice to meet you, madam.” The grin on his face made him seem more like the class clown than a thug.

“Okay. Next. You.” Another point in the direction of a boy with two-toned hair who seemed to be vibrating in his seat with how much he was fidgeting.

“Minami. Minami Kenjirou, sir.” Like Emil and Guang Hong, Minami appeared to be harmless and completely out of place in the classroom. Viktor had to establish quickly who to keep an eye on, who was the ‘leader’ or the class- because there always was one. First lesson of teacher training: locate the leader and take away his or her authority.

He was introduced to JJ, Mila, Michele. All three of them seemed rowdy and easily angered, but there was something about them that suggested that they would be easy to push over if you knew the right thing to say. Especially Michele, who was very protective over his sister Sara, as Viktor came to realise quickly. A dark-haired quiet boy named Seung Gil didn’t give off intimidating vibes either. Guang Hong had been sitting next to a boy named Leo, who had his arm protectively around the others' waist, a caring gesture that made Viktor trust him and assume that he was also relatively harmless.

So, there was only two people left, and Viktor realised that he should have started with them to begin with.

“And finally, you two. Names?”

“Yuri Pliestsky.” The blond stated in a monotone voice that suggested a boredom so extreme that Viktor was surprised he was still awake. Who knew such a fragile-looking person could prove to be such a problem.

“And this is Otabek. He ain’t gonna talk to you so don’t bother.” Otabek nodded in Viktor’s direction, either in greeting or in agreement to Yuri’s words. Even without knowing their backstories or anything about them other than their names, Viktor got the sense that he was working with a bunch of kids who were way out of his comfort zone.

But instead of leaving immediately, he sighed, picked up the whiteboard pen and considered how he was going to approach this basic algebra class. None of them even had books. Very few of them were holding a pen, and the lack of school bags scattered around suggested that most of them turned up their phones, earbuds and a packet of chewing gum at most.

He sighed, said a small prayer, and got to work planning the lessons for these fucked up kids.

Viktor Nikiforov was nothing if not determined.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok firstly i changed the name of this fic because 'Broken' is generic and boring
> 
> i updated this sooner than i thought because its just easier to write and i wanted to idk (I'm still prioritizing Haze tho dw)
> 
> major trigger warning for descriptions of self harm later on in the chapter, but its only like... references. I don't narrate someone hurting themselves or anything like that. Theres also a slightly sexual paragraph but its barely anything. 
> 
> i hope its ok !! sorry the chapters are quite short but i dont wanna make them too long otherwise ill get overwhelmed. I'm probably gonna start making the chapters in Haze a bit shorter too bc i prefer it. ANYway here u go

“Okay, first person to pretend they know what X would equal if Y was 5.5 can go for an early lunch.” Viktor said tiredly, leaning on one hand and massaging his temples with the other. He had barely been in this classroom for two hours and already he was beginning to understand why most teachers has given up: these kids were rude, sarcastic and didn’t even _try_ to understand what the hell he was talking about. Giving up now would be cowardly though, he knew that, so he had to take the hour break to re-evaluate his strategies.

A lone hand went up and he pointed at it. “Yes, Minami?”

“Twelve?” The two-toned boy chirped. He was constantly enthusiastic, Viktor had noticed that very quickly, which made up for the atmosphere of perpetual boredom that hung like thick fog in the air. Well, it was either boredom or smoke from a cigarette that had been lit at some point- he could only hazard a guess.

“That’s… Correct? It’s actually twelve. Wow.” The fact that he was so surprised that one of these students had a basic understanding of math spoke for itself really. With a wave towards the door, he indicated that Minami was free to leave, who took this opportunity with a firm grasp and practically ran out the room.

“God, he’s such a weirdo.” Someone muttered. Viktor didn’t know if it was directed at him or Minami, and he was too frustrated to ask or care.

Next period was literature, and judging by the slang that the pupils used in every goddamn sentence, he was doubtful that they could even form a grammatically correct sentence let alone read and analyse entire novels. If he thought math was hard then he was in for a real treat after break. Science utterly terrified him- a combination of writing and mathematical knowledge would absolutely fry their brains, and though it made him feel guilty to admit it, it was no wonder some of these kids had failed their exams so many times. Apparently art was another subject he had to teach and usually he’d scoff at the idea of ‘emotional expression via painting’ or whatever. Now it seemed like a luxury.

“Have any of you even been taught this before? Actually, scrap that; have any of you ever had a teacher who’s stayed for more than a day?”

If he was going to help them, he wanted to get an idea of what he was working with.

“Nope.” Jean-Jacques replied while studying his fingernails. Viktor had only found out his real name because it was scrawled in elaborate handwriting on his own hand. “We get some dumbass who’s expecting to teach some cute 12-year-olds, they get terrified when they’re met with us, and then they fuck off. Sometimes they stay for a couple of days but Yuri usually scares them away before then.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me, you walking dead frog?” All of a sudden Yuri had pushed himself out of his seat and was crossing the classroom, which caught Viktor off guard since he had been pretty silent throughout most of the lesson. He had been doodling something on a scrap piece of paper- most definitely not anything to do with math- but at least he hadn’t been throwing things across the room like Emil and Michele had taken to doing.

“Hey! Hey, sit down, both of you!” In a burst of energy Viktor leapt up and moved to stand in between the two teenagers. “There will be no fighting in this classroom!”

“How about the fucking corridor? If he wants to insult me-“

“Oh yeah, I’m sure, princess. Punch me in the face with those lady hands of yours.”

Things were spiralling out of control quickly. That much was obvious just looking at the snarl on Yuri’s face and the mocking smirk that Jean-Jacques strategically used to rile the other boy up. Viktor held up both of his hands to allow him to physically prevent either one of them from taking a step closer, and without hesitation, allowed his stern voice to raise to a shout.

“That’s enough! Jean, stop provoking people! Yuri, calm down and get back in your seat before I keep you back for detention!”

“Detention? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Okay, that’s it. The rest of you can go for lunch.” Viktor quickly turned around to address the rest of the students. “Oh no, Yuri, not you. We need to talk.” He followed Yuri to the other side of the room to make sure the blond didn’t bolt out the door. Strangely, Otabek hadn’t moved, remaining patiently in his seat next to Yuri’s instead of joining the others.

“Aren’t you going?” Otabek shook his head firmly at Viktor’s question and didn’t say anything else.

“He waits for me. We’re friends. You know what a _friend_ is, teach?”

“One thing I _do_ know, Yuri Plisetsky, is that you are being extremely rude and as a member of staff I will not tolerate that.”

Situations like these were when Viktor could silently thank his parents for being so strict with him as he grew up; without their firm words and discipline, he knew that he would have fallen apart by now. Despite adopting his happy-go-lucky personality and tendency to be nice to everyone he met, he knew how to make people listen to him. And he wasn’t about to back down from a 5-foot-4 teenage boy who looked like he hadn’t eaten for 3 weeks. He wasn’t _soft_ , and he certainly wasn’t a pushover. Forgiving, yes. Definitely generous and peaceful. But he could also be overwhelmingly selfish and stubborn and he knew how to manipulate those qualities to get his own way when he needed to.

“What is it, Yuri? Insecurities? Are you embarrassed because you don’t understand the work? It seems like none of you were following what I was saying, except Minami perhaps, so I know now to go slower next time. Would that help?”

“Fuck off. Don’t patronise me.” The blond defensively folded his arms over his chest and glared at Viktor with all the malice he could muster. “Why are you singling me out, anyway? Why not Emil, he was throwing balls of paper at you! Or fucking _Mila_ , she was smoking and you told her to put it out and barely bat an eyelid.”

“Because, kid-“

“Don’t call me a kid, asshole.”

“Fine. Because, _Yuri_ , even though ninety-five percent of this class are rude and inconsiderate and give me a headache, they’re just… Annoying. I tell Mila to put her cigarette out and she will. I can take the stack of paper away from Emil and Michele and I won’t get any more paper aeroplanes with ‘Viktor is a milf’ written on them thrown at me. But you, Yuri? You have your mouth and your wit and your damn defensiveness. I can’t take that away.”

A small silence stretched out with Yuri and Viktor staring each other down. Otabek sat uncomfortably in the corner throughout the whole ordeal, glancing at his phone every minute or so, but otherwise not making any noise. Finally Yuri made an annoyed-sounding huff and averted his eyes to the floor.

“Whatever. You won’t last long, don’t go thinking you have control over me. Can I go to lunch now, or are you going to starve me, too?”

“You can go. You’re dismissed. Don’t let me catch you threatening to beat anyone up. I can tolerate annoying teenagers, but I won’t tolerate bullying.”

“Get out of my way, old man. Come on Beka.”

Viktor ran his hands through his silver hair in exasperation as he watched his two students leave the room. The emptiness was welcomed with open arms and he sunk down in his seat with a weary sigh. They never taught him this in teacher training; whether it was because schools refused to admit they had troubled students, or because they had never dealt with situations like this, he didn’t know. He’d have to find it out on his own. Mostly to prove Yuri wrong and show that he _was_ going to stay and he _was_ going to find a way to help them, however also because he knew in his heart that he was the person who could make a difference.

A notification on his phone pulled a smile to his lips, something that he thought was impossible in this environment. _“ **Yuuri~ <3:** I got the job! Main therapist, starting Thursday!” _He gathered the energy to send a congratulatory reply to his boyfriend.

Not _everything_ was awful. Soon he’d have the love of his life working in the same building as him. (Even if they did have to keep their relationship hidden).

Yuuri was the therapist, so Viktor didn’t doubt that he’d end up meeting quite a few students from his very class.

* * *

“Well that was a fucking drag. You understand anything he said?” Yuri scoffed, kicking his heels against the brick wall that he and Otabek were perched on. The rest of the students were sat in the canteen or on various benches that were scattered across the field, but this spot was reserved for them. It was an unwritten rule throughout every block.

“I can’t do math. You know that.” The other boy said with a small frown. With his leather jacket and permanently dark features, Yuri’s constant anger and willingness to punch someone, the two of them had gathered a reputation for being ‘those’ kids- the ones you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. Unless you were Jean-Jacques Leroy (but Yuri had a suspicion that that idiot was at least a little bit afraid of Otabek). They looked out for each other and that was all they needed.

“Yeah, I know. None of us can do math. It’s a load of bullshit.”

“No, I mean my… Nevermind.” He was a man of little words and long sentences seemed to exhaust him. Yuri had grown accustomed to it after a while and was perfectly happy talking for the two of them, especially when every slight thing could send him off on an angry rant.

“Oh, your dyslexia. Number dyslexia. What is it called again?”

“Dyscalculia.”

“Yeah, that.” The two of them sat quietly for a few moments, simply observing the scene. Unfortunately for the teachers, class E2 wasn’t the only class that was full of difficult kids; some of the 12 and 13-year-olds could be infuriating and required their own individual classes. Everyone had heard the stories that involved pre-teens setting fire to curtains and throwing books out of the 4th floor window. But those kids were just bored and wanted attention. There was a big, big difference between an attention-seeking child and the older teenagers with notorious problems that left the rest of the school keeping class E2 at arm’s length.

Still, it was amusing to watch the other kids throw rocks at each other in some messed up variation of ‘stuck in the mud’. Instead of tapping one another gently, they were lobbing huge stones at any moving target, and as long as they didn’t land anywhere near him Yuri wasn’t about to stop them.

“Do you reckon he’ll stay long? The teacher, that is.”

Otabek simply shrugged and reached into his backpack, shifting through unused books and a few clothing items until he finally found what he was looking for: two lunchboxes, each containing what looked to be a tub of rice and a granola bar. He kept one for himself and passed the other to Yuri.

“Thanks. What’s this?” The blond asked, taking the box and making note of what he saw when the sleeves of Otabek’s jacket rode up slightly.

“Rice. I cooked it this morning. The container is heatproof so it should still be warm.”

“God, it’s been fucking ages since I’ve ate anything hot.”

Further conversation ceased as they ate hungrily. Otabek was much calmer in comparison to Yuri, who was shovelling food into his mouth as if it was the nicest thing he had ate in a long time. It probably was, Otabek observed sadly, frowning again when his friend moved on to the granola bar while he was only half way through his rice. There was a reason why he frequently brought Yuri lunch. He felt guilty that he couldn’t offer him more, but the consequences of his parents finding out would result in them both going hungry.

“Want mine?” He asked, nodding towards his own bar. Even if they were both fucked up, at least they were nice to each other. Yuri accepted the offer without much protest.

When they had both finished, Otabek reached down to put their wrappers and plastic forks in the bin below them, reminding Yuri of something he wanted to ask about. Physical contact made him want to punch the person touching him at the best of times and throw up at the worst, however with Otabek it was different. Everyone else’s touch was painful and scary and angry; Otabek’s was laced with love and pleasure. Now Yuri simply took his hand in his own and gently pulled his sleeve up.

“Bad night?” The cluster of red lines on tanned skin spoke for itself, and so did the wince that came from Otabek’s lips when Yuri gently stroked his thumb along the worst one, a delicate touch that he only gave to the Kazakh. Most of them had already formed a dark scab- made worse in appearance by dried blood that showed that Otabek hadn’t cleaned them properly- but a few of them remained very raw and painful-looking.

“Yeah. That one bled like fuck.” Yuri quickly took his thumb off the cut that Otabek was referencing and settled on just looking.

“No wonder. Stop fucking cutting on your wrists, you’ll fuck yourself up one day. Rookie mistake. Stick to forearms and thighs like the rest of us.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

To an outsider, the sound of two young boys joking about such a serious topic would be horrifying and concerning, although this was just another normal conversation to them. Telling each other to stop would be hypocritical and they both knew it.

“How about you?” Pulling his sleeve back down, Otabek turned his attention to the younger boy next to him.

“Haven’t cut at all this week. Probably the longest I’ve ever gone.”

“Yura, it’s Tuesday.”

“Exactly. Besides, my old ones are still healing.” He shrugged and traced his fingers up and down his arms, feeling the bumps of scar tissue and scabs and band-aids. Even if he didn’t have food, he had ample supply of medical equipment, and made a mental note to give some to Otabek and maybe teach him how to properly clean his stupid injuries. Infections were nasty. At least Otabek was 18 so the people at the hospital wouldn’t tell his parents- that would be disastrous.

“Hey, wanna come ‘round mine tonight? My parents have fucked off somewhere. I’ll kiss your cuts and…  _Other_ things.” The deep voice pulled Yuri from his thoughts and cast a small blush across his pale skin. Luckily no-one was paying attention to them, so there were no stares or jeers at the sight of Otabek leaning against his friend and threading their fingers together (not that anyone would dare to jeer anyway). Yuri almost moaned at the words alone and nodded with a lustful look in his eyes.

Before he could say anything, the bell rang, signalling the end of break and the start of the next period with their new dumbass teacher.

“C’mon, we better go. I wonder what Sir has planned for literature. This should be a fucking riot.”

“I’m good at literature.” Otabek mumbled, giving Yuri’s hand a small squeeze before dropping it and hopping off the wall.

“Yeah, thanks, Shakespeare. You can do my work for me then.”

On the journey back, they joined with Leo and Guang Hong, who looked equally pissed about having to do actual lessons. At least the feeling seemed to be mutual throughout the class. Once they entered the E block, he quickly banished any feelings of happiness that came when he was alone with Otabek. Viktor seeing him in any state that differed from angry or bitter would make him seem week, and Yuri Plisetsky was _not_ weak.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door.  


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u guys so ?? much??? for the lovely feedback. yall are angels and i love you all so much
> 
> theres a line of active self harm in this chapter but its like... 20 words long and v vague. Otherwise its just generally angsty with a small bit of humour thrown in here and there
> 
> i hope its okay !!

“We’re going to set some rules.” Viktor said, pushing himself up from his teachers’ desk and pacing up and down the room in a way that all nervous teachers did. None of his students looked the least bit interested in reading Act One of _Macbeth_ , with the interesting exception of Otabek who was nose-deep in the play, therefore he decided now would be a good idea to put his plan into action.

It had taken him all of ten minutes to come up with, and though it wasn’t perfect or fool proof, he hoped it was a step in the right direction in his attempt to get them to listen to him. Or at the very least stop throwing things at him while his back was turned.

“Rule one: thou shalt not kill.” A sarcastic voice came from the back of the classroom, which Viktor quickly pinpointed to be Jean-Jacque’s. He was a mouthy kid, and seemingly unafraid to start drama, which could prove to be a problem. Especially since he had some kind of personal vendetta against Yuri. Viktor simply rolled his eyes.

“Well, yes, that goes without saying. But there is clearly no sense of respect in this classroom; none of you listen to me, none of you seem to care about passing your exams. So I thought by establishing some basic rules we could work towards making you enthusiastic again.” He picked up a board pen with a flourish and looked around to see the response.

“Are you fucking high?” The redheaded girl- Mila- said, resting her chin in her hand and raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Michele snorted in amusement next to her. “Make us ‘enthusiastic’ again? Do you understand how little any of us care? Yuri falls asleep at least twice per period and Sara hasn’t even turned up.”

“Look, I know your previous teachers haven’t stayed for long. But I’m different. And I think these rules are going to be surprisingly easy to follow.”

They expected him to recite the general expectations that were listed on a poster in every classroom: no mobile phones, shirts must be tucked in at all times, listen while the teacher is talking, that kind of thing. Of course, that would be useless. No phones? Minami was Snapchatting as he spoke. Correct dress code? Tell that to Otabek’s jacket or the piercings that marched up Mila’s left ear. Respect the teacher? Viktor almost laughed.

Instead, he had evaluated the behaviour that he had witnessed already, and came up with some rules that any idiot could follow. His boyfriend had assisted with some tips on how they calmed an angry student in therapy, and in the end he had a nice recipe for a marginally more peaceful classroom. He uncapped the pen and started writing in the corner of the board.

“Rule one.” He began, raising his voice so they could hear him clearly, “no bodily harm in the classroom. That includes to others and yourself.” The second point was clearly needed after he spotted Leo absentmindedly running up and down his palms with a compass point. “However many fights you get into outside of my care has nothing to do with me, although that leads me to the next rule.”

The squeaking of the whiteboard pen didn’t get any less annoying no matter how much he heard it.

“Rule two: any student who is provoked or angry in any way must leave the class immediately. Go to the therapy room, go down onto the field, cut the rest of the class for all I care. If you think you’re going to lash out, I don’t want you in my classroom.”

Yuri glared at that last point, clearly feeling like it was directed at him. Biting his lip, he pushed down the cutting remark that sat heavy on the edge of his tongue, settling on a dirty look that could turn a man to stone. Viktor pretended not to notice and carried on.

“Rule three: _try_ to listen in lessons, and if you can’t, at least _pretend_ to. I know it’s boring, but I’m here to help.” Their blank faces were enough to tell Viktor that they weren’t getting the message. “Basically, stop throwing things at me, stop insulting me, and if you’re going to text in class you could have the decency to hide it under your desk. Yes, Minami, I’m looking at you.”

That rule was more for him than them, just a little something to take away the tension in his shoulders and make his day less painful. Emotionally and physically; paper aeroplanes could hurt if the tip was strengthened with sellotape and caught you on the back of the neck.

“Rule four, and I know this one is probably going to be lost on a lot of you, but I’m here if you need me. I’ll be in this room most of break times. Come and see me if you need help with the work or just want to chat.” Obviously this one was more advice than a firm rule, however Viktor felt like it needed to be said. He’d have to tackle this class from all angles- firmly, strictly, and kindly.

“Are you done?” Emil said with a yawn, glancing at the clock as if it were anywhere near time for the lesson to be over.

“Nope. One more rule.” This was going to be the one they hated most. Viktor could feel it.

“Fifth and final rule: you show up. Unless you are sick or have a very good reason for being off, you show up to school. No truancy, no leaving in the middle of the day because you can’t be bothered to do math, no turning up only when you feel like it. I am legally obliged to contact your parents or carers if your attendance falls below a certain percentage.”

The effect was immediate. A chorus of groans echoed around the classroom, each pupil protesting with a different excuse and complaint, as if going to school was the most difficult thing in their lives. Viktor had had a look at their records while they were out of the room, and as expected, every single one of their attendances were awful. It was no wonder they hadn’t passed their exams if they weren’t there half of the time.

“Yes, yes, I know, the teacher is a demon. I don’t care. I’m expected to come in every day, so you are, too. Any questions? And I mean constructive questions, not a list of reasons why you’d rather stay at home playing Xbox instead of coming to school.”

“Xbox? Do you fucking understand who you’re talking to?” When Yuri spoke in class, Viktor was always taken aback. He remained mostly silent in lessons despite his evident anger problems and confrontational attitude. Granted, he was usually on his phone or doodling or doing anything other than the work, but at least it was better than mouthing off constantly.

Now, though, Viktor found himself gulping as he looked into those green eyes. Eyes that were narrowed with a rage that Viktor couldn’t place.

“Excuse me, Mr Plisetsky? Care to elaborate?” Sounding weak in front of him would have been suicide.

“You think we bunk off school because it’s _cool?_ Because we’d rather hang out around town or go home and play _video games?_ ” He had pushed himself out of his seat now and stood with his hands planted on the table in front of him, leaning over slightly, not breaking eye contact. The rest of the class was silent and Yuri felt like he was speaking on behalf of all of them.

“Do you have _any_ idea who you’re dealing with, teach? We’re not a bunch of kids who got kicked out of class because we backchatted one time too many. We don’t misbehave because we love to see how frustrated we can make the unfortunate bitch who’s covering us. And its people like _you,_ who constantly patronise us and treat us like charity projects and- fuck it. Fuck it, I need a smoke.”

The blond kicked over his chair in his desperation to get out of the classroom, leaving Viktor stunned and the rest of the class smirking and Otabek frowning in concern.

* * *

 

“Well, at least I’m fucking good at rule 2.” Yuri muttered bitterly to himself, shouldering his way through the doors and dragging his shoes along the grass of the field until the familiar sight of his wall came into view. Stupid really, how a dumb wall could become sentimental to him. Here was where he talked with Otabek and ate food that wasn’t out of date. Probably the closest thing he had to a home.

He roughly pulled his packet of cigarettes and lighter from the inside of his jacket once he was seated atop the stone bricks. They were most likely stale and tasted bad, but he didn’t care. The nicotine rush and knowledge that he was slowly killing his lungs was all he needed.

Although he hated to put the blame on someone else, it was Otabek who had first made him start smoking. Well, not _made_ exactly, but the Kazakh had been doing it since he was 14 and Yuri was always fascinated with the concept, so one evening when Beka offered him one he didn’t refuse. It ended in him embarrassingly coughing and needing a drink of water afterwards, something that Otabek chuckled fondly at, though even after the first puff Yuri could feel himself involuntarily relaxing. So he accepted another, and another, all on different occasions, and soon the two of them were making a habit out of smoking behind the dumpsters before and after school.

He was always told that smoking was dirty and unpleasant, and it was, he supposed. But it helped. Just another unhealthy coping mechanism to add to the list.

“Fucking geezer.” His words were lost in a puff of smoke as he exhaled the poisonous gases, knowing the scent would cling to him but too lost in thought to care. Sympathy and anger swirled around in his brain, an ugly battle that gave him a headache. On one hand, he felt sorry for Viktor; he was trying his best and didn’t ask for a class of useless kids. On the other hand, he was just mad. It wasn’t even the overwhelming madness that consumed him at every inconvenience- it was a frustration that sat numbly in his temples and was ready to spill over any second.

He was mad at how clueless everyone was, how adults thought they were better just because they had lived longer, how they were written off as delinquents without even a question about _why_ they were so fucked up.

None of their stories were huge secrets. Some kids, like Minami and Emil, were just classic examples of bad luck. Minami had ADHD and had trouble concentrating, Emil was just a weird little attention-seeker with no self-confidence who relied on making people laugh to feel good about himself. Seung gil had recently moved from South Korea and was still learning English, resulting in him being incredibly asocial and aggressively against making friends. Even JJ could be calmed and knocked down a peg or two if only he could control his damn ego.

Others were more of a challenge. The reason why Michele was so protective over Sara remained a mystery, though it was generally agreed that the two of them must have gone through some rough shit. No-one became that possessive for no reason. Sara herself was desperate for independence and went to extreme lengths to get it (the town youth centre had never given out so many free condoms to a single person). Mila had got into a rough crowd from a young age, Guang Hong had panic attacks every other hour, if you glanced at Leo there was a 50% chance he was listening to what the teacher was saying and a 50% chance he was dissociating and pinching himself.

Otabek’s business was cleverly concealed under his stoic attitude. If you asked anyone about Yuri’s problems, the answers differed from block to block. Some of the truth had been twisted by rumours, often so unbelievable that Yuri couldn’t help but snort when he heard them, but some things remained as well-known facts. It was a fact that Yuri had anger problems like it was a fact that Jean-Jacques Leroy was a certified moron.

And the rest…. Yuri didn’t like to think about them. The life of drug abuse and trafficking was fortunately a grey area in his life, even if he had been through hell and back already. All he knew was that the class of E2 used to have a lot more people than the 11 that remained.

“And that’s why you don’t assume we stay at home playing Xbox all day, Nikiforov.” He said to the empty field, his mind running over the things that had happened inside of that classroom alone. The time that someone had grabbed a pair of scissors and cut themselves in the middle of a presentation about Napoléon. The time a kid named Sydney had turned up high and didn’t make it to the bin before throwing up everywhere. The time an anorexic boy passed out and didn’t wake up until the paramedics were over him with a defibrillator.

Yeah, class E2 hadn’t always looked like such a barren wasteland.

Yuri sighed deeply, letting the back of his head hit the tree trunk behind him. He had been out here long enough, the cigarette had helped him calm down; it was probably time to go back into class, even if his only reason was so Otabek didn’t have to sit alone.

He didn’t even realise he had put the cigarette out on his arm until he noticed the cool breeze on his bare skin.

* * *

 

“Give me a quote. Anyone, anything. Just give me something to work with.”

Back in the class, things weren’t going much better than they had the previous lesson. Sure, they weren’t shouting out as much or assaulting him with flying paper, but Viktor was struggling to get them to pay attention to the work at hand. The mindmap on the whiteboard was pathetically empty, no more than a few words on each of the four sections: Power, Ambition, Gender, and the Supernatural.

“Macbeth, Macbeth, where art thou Macbeth.” Emil said dramatically, leaning back in his chair and waving his hands about.

“Wrong play, Emil. Anyone else?”

“How are we supposed to understand this bullshit? ‘ _When the hurly-burly’s done, when the battle’s lost and won_ ’. What the fuck is a ‘hurly-burly?’” Mila spat, brown furrowing in disgust as she aimlessly flicked through the play in front of her. “Whatever Shakey was smoking, I want some of it.”

Viktor sank down in his seat, utterly exhausted. The syllabus had listed that they were to study _Macbeth_ in detail, as well as a handful of poems. Language analysis and creative writing were the main focuses of the exam, with small sections dedicated to spelling, punctuation and grammar use. At the rate they were going, they might have finished reading the play by the time Viktor was retired.

“Guang Hong? Leo? Do you have anything written down?”

“W-well… I have a list of things Lady Macbeth said. I only wrote them because I understood what they meant.” Guang Hong whispered, embarrassed to be singled out- not that he needed to be, since it was clear that nobody else cared enough to listen. Seung gil was slumped on his desk in a way that meant he could either be texting under the table or fast asleep. Quite frankly, if it was the latter option, then Viktor couldn’t blame him.

“Great! Well, that’s something.”

Until Viktor glanced at his paper and saw that the ‘quotes’ consisted of two or three-word-phrases that made no sense on their own.

The good news was that it was five minutes until the school day was over- Viktor had arrived in the middle of math, the second period, and literature was the third and final lesson of the day. The bad news was that he had made no progress, and if he was this tired after one attempt, he wouldn’t be able to keep his sanity for long. Being a cover teacher certainly had its advantages, however they usually depended on being able to switch from one class to another as needed. Teaching one class for every period would require a lot of improvising, a lot of patience, and a lot of marking.

Just as the bell rang to signify the golden time of 3pm, the door swung open, and in walked a very pissed-off Yuri Plisetsky. Not that his face visibly looked any more annoyed than it usually did, but Viktor could see the way his eyes were unblinking and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Tell-tail signs of someone who was holding back the urge to punch something.

“Alright, all of you get out. Don’t get into trouble. I expect to see all of you here tomorrow. Bring your textbooks if you have them, at the very least show up with some basic stationary.”

Their quick response to pack up the little they had and bolt out the room was perhaps the most obedient Viktor had ever seen them. He shook his head in disproval and turned his attention to the two students in the back corner.

“Yuri. Stay behind, please.” Viktor said curtly, making brief eye contact with the teen. “Otabek, ‘all of you get out’ includes you as well I’m afraid. I won’t keep him back for long.” Surprisingly there were no rude complaints from either of them (save from another glare in his direction), and soon Viktor was left alone with the person who currently hated him most.

“Alright. Alright, Yuri. I get you don’t like me. I get that I might have gone about things the wrong way. But I just want to help.” He said carefully, picking his way past upturned chairs and crumpled balls of paper before seating himself opposite the blond. “I don’t think you guys are charity projects at all. You clearly know the class better than I do, so I’m going to ask for your help. What can I do to make things easier?”

Yuuri would be so proud of him. Asking the students what they need and how they can be helped was one thing he constantly drilled into Viktor’s brain; there was nothing more patronising, he had said, than someone assuming how you feel or how you can be helped. Always let the young person talk first.

“First of all you can get rid of this crap.” Yuri said, gesturing towards the pile of Shakespeare plays that sat on the table to the right. “Half of us are dyslexic and the other half haven’t read anything more advanced than 9th grade _Animal Farm._ ” Other than Otabek, of course. The nerd was always reading something or other. He had said that it was a good way to escape when things got bad at home, which Yuri never understood, but didn’t criticize. That’s what friends did.

“Okay. I’ll have a talk to Mr Feltsman.”

“Good. Fuck Shakespeare.”

“Like you said, I don’t know much about you lot, but I promise you’re all very talented individuals. You _can_ do it, I know you can-“

“Teach, stop. Stop it. Don’t try to strike non-existent inspiration into us.” That same glare was back on Yuri’s face, and Viktor knew he had to back off.

“I just… Okay. Okay, I’m sorry.” He sighed again, running his hands through his hair. Being so relentlessly optimistic wasn’t going to be useful in this environment. Not if he wanted to get them on his side.

“And… how about you, Yuri? How can I help _you?”_

That was the wrong thing to say. Viktor knew it as soon as it left his lips, knew it as soon as he saw the panic flash in Yuri’s eyes, knew it for certain when the teen stood up and defensively crossed his arms. It was so hot outside, yet half the class insisted on wearing long sleeves. Weird.

“I don’t fucking need your help! Stay _out_ of my _head_!” He snapped, bending down to grab his near-empty rucksack, ready to make a quick departure. Otabek was waiting by the door and Viktor swore he could see the older boy wrap his arm around Yuri’s waist as the two of them left.

Well, that could have gone better. Could have gone much worse, too. At least now he had a starting point.

He picked up the pile of _Macbeth_ books and carelessly slung them into the storage draws, muttering to himself quietly.

“Yeah. Fuck Shakespeare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *slams fists on table* FUCK SHAKESPEARE


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took longer to update 
> 
> also sorry this chapter is rushed as fuck and badly written tbh
> 
> content warnings for mentions of abuse,also vaaaaguely sexual mentions in the first section

The early morning sun dripped through the parted curtains, shining directly into Yuri’s eyes, bright enough to make him stir. A couple of hours ago he had pulled the alarm clock from its socket and tossed it across the room, determined to get a couple of hours more sleep. Otabek’s warm figure lying next to him was a rare luxury that he wanted to appreciate.

Nikiforov would surely complain about the two of them bunking first lesson, especially after his grandeur lecture and dumbass set of ‘rules’, but the first period was just sports anyway. Staying in bed was much preferred over spending two hours on a field pretending to give a shit about javelin. It wasn’t as if the rest of the class would show up, either; no-one wanted to wear the disgusting kit that showed _way_ too much skin, and the lesson hardly contributed to their education. Sir would have a perfect opportunity to bond with JJ and Minami, since JJ was a sports nerd and Minami was idiotic enough to care.

“C’mon, we gotta get up.” The Kazakh mumbled, blinking sleep out of his eyes and sitting up in bed. Now that daylight was illuminating the room, Yuri could clearly see the bruises and scratches that painted a rather gruesome watercolour on his back.

“How many of these were from me, and how many were your parents?” He croaked, fingers tracing lightly over the injuries. Otabek flinched at the touch but soon relaxed against it.

“You did the scratches.”

“Well, that’s hardly _my_ fault. You didn’t even remember to kiss my cuts with how distracted you were.”

“Oh, yeah. Guess I’ll do that now then.”

The sudden movement of the bed shaking caused Yuri to yelp, an expression of surprise which quickly turned into a smirk when he saw the other boy leaning over him. True to his word, Otabek bent down to drag his lips across the scars on the blond’s thighs, on his hips, the few that strayed across his chest. His lips lingered on Yuri’s for a second before feathering down onto his shoulders and forearms, making Yuri blush slightly. This was always strangely more intimate than sex. He didn’t show his scars to _anyone_ else, let alone let anyone touch them, yet here Otabek was, running his lips over the patchwork skin of white lines and semi-fresh wounds.

“What’s this?”

He had moved onto the other arm without Yuri noticing, and had stopped mid-forearm with a frown. Yuri glanced down to see what he was looking at.

“Oh, that? Didn’t even realise I did it at the time.”

“Cigarette burn?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Don’t make it a habit. They’re a pain in the ass to heal and get infected easily.”

There was never any judgment, no lectures or sad looks, and Yuri couldn’t explain how much he appreciated that. A mutual understanding between the two of them that created a comfortable space to either cry or joke about what they were going through. Besides, it wasn’t as if Otabek’s skin looked much better, and Yuri reminded himself to give his friend some antiseptic cream and band-aids.

“Want me to kiss yours?”

“Nah. I’m good. We gotta get up though.”

He was right, Yuri reluctantly acknowledged. They couldn’t afford to miss the rest of the day, especially not with the threat of Nikiforov contacting their parents if their attendance fell too low. Next lesson was only art, anyway, which most people took as an opportunity to graffiti the classroom with even more obscene shit that was already decorating the walls. Emil had been rather proud of his ‘Guang Hong sucks cock 2k17’ mural.

Uniform was scattered across the room and it took them a couple of minutes to identify what belonged to who, and Yuri left the house pretty certain he was wearing Otabek’s tie. Not that it mattered- the two of them ended up sharing most of their possessions, everything from clothes to food to textbooks, although it was mostly Yuri on the receiving end. He knew that Otabek didn’t mind. He hardly had many other ways of getting things he needed, and Otabek’s parents were rich, even if they were complete assholes. Yuri on the other hand…

Home life was a conversation for another day. Now they had to focus on getting to school before lunch was over and the register was taken.

Hooking his thumbs into the holes in his shirt to keep his sleeves from riding up, Yuri stepped out of the house, and couldn’t decide if the dread in his stomach was from the thought of going to school in general or being greeted by the same infuriating cover teacher.

* * *

 

First lesson had been a trainwreck. Viktor’s enthusiasm for the new day had immediately dwindled thanks to the sheer absence of his students- the classroom was hardly bursting at the seams even when everyone turned up, but it looked pathetic when only Jean-Jacques and Minami were perched at their seats. Well, JJ was sitting on his desk and Minami was half lying on the floor, but Viktor hardly cared about the details when he was having an internal monologue about whether he should just cancel Sports Education or not. What was he supposed to do? Have the two of them race each other around the athletics course? 

In the end he had settled on giving them free rein of the Sports Hall, complete with badminton nets and shuttlecocks. They could play a singles match against each other or see who could throw the racquets across the room the furthest- Viktor didn’t care, he was too busy trying to figure out where the rest of his class went. A glance at the attendance charts from the last month or so illustrated that skipping sports was a common occurrence, and one that Viktor was determined to put a stop to. Teenagers needed exercise and a healthy way to let off some steam.

So, when he went back to his class after lunch and was greeted by a full classroom, he didn’t waste his energy trying to get them to explain themselves. None of them looked even vaguely regretful anyway. During his break he had visited Mr Feltsman and had a hearty conversation with the grumpy old man, and had managed to switch things round a bit, resulting in a slightly different timetable that he knew would make them hate him.

“Okay, listen up.” Viktor began, handing around sheets of paper. “These are your new timetables. I’ve had words with the principle, and he agrees that you guys skipping Sports class is going to eventually leave you with an attendance percentage that will require contact with your parents.”

Some kids immediately groaned, a couple cursed, one or two closed their eyes in annoyance. They all knew where this was going.

“So, Sports has been swapped to second period. The period before is Literature, one that you _cannot_ afford to miss, and none of you will be allowed out of the room at break time so I can keep an eye on you all. Skipping Literature first period every Wednesday will result in an immediate email or phone call home.” Was it harsh? Maybe. But them skipping class was going to lead to legal problems, and Viktor _really_ hated paperwork.

“I know, I’m awful. There is good news, too. Mr Feltsman has agreed to let me give you _Lord of the Flies_ for your literature exam focus, so you don’t have to worry about deciphering Shakespearean anymore.”

“Thank fuck. I never did figure out what a _hurly-burly_ is.”

“Yes. Thank you, Mila. We ordered some copies of the books, they should be here in the next couple of days. In the meantime…”

 With a flourish and a glimpse of his usual optimism, Viktor turned his attention to the two cardboard boxes on the floor in front of the whiteboard, excited to explain what was inside of them. Nobody would ever call him an artist, but he had never been more grateful for a few tubs of paint in his entire life. The classroom was horrific and he was going to use Art class to make a difference.

“We’re going to redecorate!” He grinned, already picturing plain walls that weren’t covered in genitals or death threats that were written in running-out Sharpie. Raiding the caretaker’s cupboards had resulted in a collection of different coloured emulsion paints, coloured paper for display boards, a couple of sets of new blinds. It wouldn’t be anywhere near enough to restore the class to its non-existent former glory, but it was a start. Carpet cleaner and new desks would have to wait for another day.

“What is this, 3rd grade?” Leo asked with a raised eyebrow. Guang Hong was sitting on his lap and shared a look of equal boredom.

“No. Technically this isn’t _any_ grade since you’re all different ages due to failing your exams.” Viktor replied, a sarcastic smirk sitting on his lips. He really wasn’t in the mood to be pushed around today. Last night he had had a chat with Yuuri, who said that being firm was sometimes the best way to make them listen, which was advice that Viktor didn’t hesitate to accept. “Guang Hong, either sit in your own seat or come here and hand out paintbrushes.”

Ten minutes later, everyone was holding something from the box, and were complaining loudly about the task at hand.

“This is fucking bullshit.” Michele muttered to himself, crouching down to paint the area underneath the window with a large roller. Students were dotted around the classroom here and there, some standing on tables to reach the higher-up areas, others simply sitting on the floor and half-heartedly painting the same area over and over again. Emil practically had a meltdown when Viktor started painting over his infamous cock graffiti, and was now lying face-down on the floor and getting in everyone’s way.

At first, he had tried to spur everyone on with words of optimism and encouragement, but now Viktor was keeping to himself on the other side of the room. Every now and again he turned around to make sure they weren’t drinking the paint or similar acts of self destruction.

Yuri and Otabek were both leaning against the window, struggling to fit the new blinds. In a fit of rage Yuri had torn the old ones off their bracket and was now cursing in Russian while fiddling with the new ones. Like most of the other students, he was pissed off at the new rule regarding Sports Education, and was trying to brainstorm ways of getting out of it.

“Well, why don’t we just forget our kits? Like, every single time we have the dumbass lesson.” He suggested, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

“There’s bound to be spare kit, Yura.” Otabek sounded equally as dismal.

“Fuck. Guess we’ll have to cut our limbs off entirely then.”

“That’s rather overdramatic.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know about you, Beka, but I don’t feel like showing Nikiforov the beautiful Picasso transcription on my arms.” The teen spat, and threw the blinds to the floor, too overwhelmed to care about them. “He’s doing it again. He thinks he can fucking control us and make us respect him.”

“The dude has been here for a day and a half. He doesn’t know how fucked up we all are. It’s not his fault.”

“Are you _sticking up for him?”_

“I… No. Sorry.”

Yuri sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But it ain’t just me who’s going to have an issue- its ninety percent of this entire class. I’m pretty certain Seung-gil nearly passed out the other day because he was wearing too many layers.”

“And if we skip class…” Otabek didn’t need to finish the rest of his sentence.

“Exactly. If my mother gets a call from school again… Well. What she did to me last time was just the warm up.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, not in the awkward way but in a way that left an air of stress and unspoken fear that settled in their lungs and burnt in their throats. Like cigarette smoke it spread throughout the rest of the room, until the students were working almost in silence, everyone thinking the same thing: Nikiforov had no idea what he was getting himself into. He had no idea that even Minami, the happiest person in the room, had faint reminders of a breakdown on the inside of his left arm.

“There’s nothing we can do.” Someone said from across the room. Yuri had no idea what they were talking about- it could have been about the painting or the lessons or just general conversation, but it didn’t matter. The context of the words hardly mattered when they had already successfully planted the sensation of dread in the pit of his stomach.

Just like that, without a single word of warning, his mood had switched from pissed off and vaguely angry to completely horror-stricken, from mellow and depressed to holding back the tears that were threatening to spill from burning eyes. A sharp stabbing in his stomach left him bent over slightly with his palms pressed against his gut. This feeling wasn’t unfamiliar, he knew every sign of a panic attack better than he knew his own name, yet it had never happened in school before. It had never happened in front of other people.

Usually he would be crouching in the corner of his bedroom, hands over his ears, trying to block out the drunken screaming from his mother.

 _“There’s nothing we can do.”_ No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was steadily awaiting the too-familiar feeling of her shoes against his ribs as he curled into foetal position in a vain attempt to protect himself. She was violent on a good day and mercilessly ruthless on a bad one, she would throw empty alcohol bottles at him for no reason and smash them against his head if he ever provoked her. He couldn’t win. All he ever wanted to do was take care of his sick grandpa, but that came with beatings and migraines from the one woman who was meant to love him.

 _“There’s nothing we can do.”_ Yuri Plisetsky was feared throughout Sandbrook High, he was the tough kid who wouldn’t hesitate to punch someone in the face if they so much as looked at him the wrong way. Teachers labelled him as violent. Other students thought he was crazy. Only Otabek knew that he acted that way because if he didn’t, if he let his guard down for even a second, they would see how broken he was.

And now he was facing the realisation that next Thursday he would be coming to school covered in cuts and bruises thanks to Viktor phoning home to tell his mother about the cuts on his arms or him skipping class.

Yuri hated Viktor. He hated this bastard who had walked into their lives, trying to play Superman, trying to make a difference.

He hated Viktor almost as much as he hated himself.

There was nothing he could do except sink to the floor and dig his nails in to the flesh of his arms.

* * *

 

“Yuri?”

A soft voice was echoing inside his head, bouncing around his brain like an irritating lullaby. He didn’t have the energy to pinpoint exactly where it was coming from, so instead he just listened to it and let his muscles relax. He could vaguely identify a cold wall against his back and pain shooting from his arms, but otherwise he was oblivious, oblivious in the fog of post-panic attack.

Or was it a flashback? The last thing he could remember was seeing the fire in his mother’s eyes, yet he hadn’t felt the pain that had come with her raised fists. Everything had seemed so real and he wasn’t yet sure if he was safe or not. The voice was helping, though, the repetition of ‘Yuri’ becoming a soothing mantra and slowly coaxing him back to reality.

Stinging skin protested as he removed his nails from the crescent-shaped beds they had made. The slick of blood would have made him cringe any other time (for someone so self-destructive, he never had gotten used to watching himself bleed), however now it was merely an inconvenience that was tossed aside, something to worry about once he had sorted himself out. Things were becoming clearer now, both physically and mentally; he felt the throbbing in his head almost as vividly as he could feel an edge of panic lying at the back of his throat. Aching muscles were begging to be stretched and his heart was pounding, louder and louder, telling him to stop holding his breath, telling him to just _breathe_ and everything would be okay.

Yuri cracked his eyes open, slowly, almost closing them again when they were attacked by the artificial light of the classroom. Surprisingly, he wasn’t met with the sight of the rest of his classmates peering over him like some kind of zoo animal. Instead he made eye contact with the teacher who was kneeling in front of him.

“Hey there. Welcome back.” Viktor said gently, calmly- way too calm considering he just witnessed someone practically crumpling to the floor in a state of panicked terror. Blue eyes crinkled as the man smiled softly. “Are you able to stand up?”

The blond boy shook his head, not trusting his legs to take his weight, not able to form words just yet. If his head didn’t feel so fuzzy he would have been humiliated to be perceived as weak and vulnerable. All strong, unbreakable facades had faded away and left him blinking like a deer in headlights, attempting to gather his thoughts.

“Otabek is here with you, everyone else has left. You don’t need to be embarrassed. We’re here to help.”

Glancing down at his arms, Yuri winced to see the marks he had made, and mentally kicked himself for allowing his sleeves to ride up. Only a few scars were visible, thin white lines that almost blended in with his pale skin, however they were more than enough to give his secret away. Luckily the thicker, redder, newer marks on his forearms were still concealed. Viktor had definitely noticed the ones that were showing. Probably why he was sounding so pitiful.

“’m fine. Don’t need no help.” He scowled, turning his head away so he wasn’t forced to stare into those concerned eyes, eyes that belonged to a teacher who wasn’t convinced.

“Care to tell me what happened?”

“No.”

“Yuri…”

“Fuck you.”

Viktor sighed, leaning back slightly to give his student some more room. Otabek was sitting a metre or so away from Yuri, not making any noise, and Viktor took this as a sign that the teen didn’t want to be crowded. That was easily done, he’d just move away, but what next? How could he get Yuri to speak? One second he was rolling his eyes at Mila and Sara flicking paint at each other, the next second he was leaning over the last person he would expect to see whimpering on the floor. It was frightening.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

No answer.

“Is it… something that has happened in class?”

A shrug. Better, but not good enough.

“Yuri, is everything okay at home?”

“Don’t talk about my home, you prick! Who do you think you are!”

The explosive anger was back again, and Viktor quickly noted that mentions of home got an aggressively quick reaction. He held his hands up in an apologetic gesture and let his eyes wander to the blood that was pooling on his student’s arms.

“Otabek, could you get me some tissue, please?”

The Kazakh nodded and left, leaving Viktor and Yuri alone in class for the second time in two days.

“Yuri… I’m not going to force you to talk. I’m not going to keep you here against your will. But it’s my duty to care for you, and I want to do whatever I can to help. Tell me what I can do. You’re good at telling me how to help your classmates, but I want to focus on _you.”_

Yuri shrugged again, and mumbled something that Viktor couldn’t quite catch.

“Excuse me?”

“I said I don’t fucking want to do Sports, god dammit!”

It was such a mundane request that Viktor had to take a second to consider whether he heard correctly. “Well… Okay. That’s easily solved. You can skip Sports.”

The look of relief on Yuri’s face was more saddening than it was pleasant.

“But I need to give you something to do instead. So, instead of going to Sports every second period on a Wednesday, I want you to go to see the new therapist who is starting tomorrow. He’s very good. He won’t pester you for your life story, but he’s a good listener, and will happily let you just catch up on homework or have some alone time if you’d prefer it. Does that sound okay?”

“I… Yeah. Whatever.” The fight had gone from his voice and he was left sounding exhausted. Viktor stood up and offered Yuri a hand, which was immediately declined, and watched the teen push himself up just in time for Otabek to return with the tissues.

It was funny, Viktor thought bitterly, how he used to have such strong resentment against this boy. Now his protective instincts were kicking in and he found himself constantly glancing at Yuri out of the corner of his eye, noticing everything from the hickies that covered both his and Otabek’s necks to the strange mood swings and outbursts. It wasn’t just Yuri, either; he could feel himself getting closer to all of his students. Even if they didn’t return the feelings and were intent on hating him. It was only his second day, yet with every passing second he could feel his confidence growing. New ideas forming for lessons and ways to help them. New perseverance that would let him make a difference.

He watched as Otabek tenderly pressed the wad of tissue against Yuri’s arms, pretended he didn’t notice the scars that glared from white skin, and made a mental note to go a bit softer on them for the rest of the day.

Getting through last period would be a breeze compared to this one. Yuuri was starting tomorrow, the sex ed teacher was apparently taking over for half of the day, and Viktor had a stack of worksheets to mark and forms to fill out. He grabbed two aspirin on his way out the classroom and prayed for 3pm to come quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter will be the Grand Introduction of Yuuri and Chris, and the dreaded sex ed lessons. I'm going to somehow include Phichit, maybe as Yuuri's friend and someone else who works in therapy? Not as the main therapist, just to like... comfort the students and such.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey! sorry this took a bit longer to update. School starts again next week, so my updates might be a little bit less frequent, but hopefully there shouldnt be too much difference! 
> 
> this chapter contains a lot of talking about condoms, mild homophobia (q slur), suggested abuse, and mentions of self harm. It's a little bit rushed and definitely very messy buuttt it'll do for an update ;) I'll go back and edit it a bit later if i need to 
> 
> hope yall enjoy!! And thank you all so much for your comments!!

“Condoms. Diaphragm caps. The pill. All well-known forms of contraception, but according to your principle, it seems like you guys might need a little extra help in understanding what these things are.”

Christophe Giacommeti was an interesting man, Viktor came to realise quickly. He possessed an admirable confidence that didn’t waver in front of the class of pissed-off teenagers, the smirk that sat on his lips didn’t fade even when he was pointing at microscopic images of chlamydia bacteria. He was the perfect combination of intimidating and friendly, laid-back and serious. Viktor might have found himself becoming jealous of his demeanour if he wasn’t struggling to hold back laughter.

“Do you guys know the consequences of not wearing one of these things?” He was holding a condom now, and was pointing at it with a lube-covered hand, looking around the class like a searchlight sweeping for missing boats. The dark purple colour of it suggested that it was grape-flavoured. A wrapper was lying discarded on the floor, forgotten, and Viktor hoped that he would remember to pick it up before he left.

“Teenage pregnancy. Gonorrhoea. Trichomoniasis. HIV infection. Doesn’t sound like fun, huh? What if I were to tell you that one of these things can lead to an incurable disease? I’m not going to teach you abstinence, since it’s pretty clear that any attempts would be useless judging by the hickies covering your necks.” He looked pointedly at Yuri, earning a jeer from the rest of the class. “But I _am_ here to teach you to stay safe.”

Half of the class looked wide-eyed and fearful, the other half were moderately amused but mostly bored. This was better than math or science, they supposed, and Chris wasn’t a horrible guy. He insisted on them calling him by his first name and interestingly wasn’t unnerved by the scowl that was being aimed at him by a certain red-faced Yuri Plisetsky. His two-toned blond and brown hair, tanned skin, daunting height and tendency to lie across surfaces when he talked consequently made him very fitting for a sexual education teacher. Sara earned a glare from Michele when she wolf-whistled at him.

When Viktor first announced that they would have to sit through 90 minutes of someone discussing penises, they all immediately thought that it would be a complete waste of time. Condoms were important, ask for consent, etc. etc. Everyone knew that there wasn’t a virgin in the entirety of class E2, so they all knew the basics from experience, right? For someone like JJ, who had lost his virginity when he was 12, sexual knowledge was the only subject he would get an A in. Even Guang Hong (who had barely even touched _himself_ before he got together with Leo) rolled his eyes at the proposition of a stranger talking about the biology of a vagina. Seung-gil was more of a mystery but other than that… secrets were hard to keep in a class of rude, nosy teenagers.

 When Mr Giacometti fell through the door 15 minutes late, clutching a small suitcase and declaring that ‘the receptionist was being a bitch” and not letting him through, the students all exhaled a sigh of relief and sat back to enjoy the show. Part of them expected Ms Baranovskaya (the terrifying vice principle and ex-wife of Mr Feltsman) to come storming into the class yelling about STDs, so this scatter-brained new man was angelic in comparison.

Even if he was a bit hyperactive and didn’t know how to act appropriately in front of children.

“You.” Chris suddenly turned around from the photographs pinned to the whiteboard to face Otabek, jabbing a finger in his direction. The boy in question flinched and shrunk down in his seat. “Do you know how to put a condom on?”

“Uh… y-yes?” Otabek stammered, feeling humiliated. Yuri sympathetically patted his hip. Otabek always hated attention from anyone else, especially by weird teachers whose fingers were sticky with cheap lube.

 “Great. You can demonstrate to the class.”

_“Excuse me?”_

“Aye yai yai! Get your dick out, Altin!” Mila excitedly cheered from across the class, clapping her hands together in mocking glee. The clapping soon turned into her thumping her fists onto the desk in a rhythmic drumming, accompanied by the chant of _“dicks out! Dicks out! Dicks out!”._

Mila had always had a weird obsession with the Kazakh. Her sultry looks and winks drove Yuri _crazy,_ not in a seduced way, but in a weirdly-jealous, overly-angry way. Yuri couldn’t say he _hated_ her. He hated Jean-Jacques Leroy and his mother. Mila was someone he respected- except for when she was thrusting her breasts at his best friend and groping him whenever he walked past.

Still, she had an infectious charm and a powerful beauty that made it hard to look away from her. She could be manipulating and evil, yet she could also be lovely and caring if you had something to offer her or if you were one of the lucky few people she cared about. Everyone except for Yuri and Otabek followed in her footsteps, which was made evident by the fact that it didn’t take long before most of the class had joined in with the chanting and Otabek had buried his face in his arms.

“No, no! Stop it!”

Chris was trying to silence the chanting, but nine students easily overpowered anything he had to say. Even Minami and Guang Hong, who usually shied away from loud noises and ridicule, were grinning and shouting the embarrassing obscenities at the poor boy who was slumped in the corner. Viktor didn’t bother interfering; he wouldn’t be able to make any difference, and besides, this was technically his free period. Mr Feltsman said that he was supposed to be teaching another class during E2’s sex ed, though that job had been claimed by another cover teacher.

So, here he was instead. Sat by the door, arms folded, eyebrows raised, trying to figure out whether Otabek was having a panic attack or crying.

 “Okay, listen up fuckers!” Chris was standing on Viktor’s desk now, knocking over neatly organised files and pots of paperclips (much to the silver-haired man’s horror). Viktor didn’t know if visitors to the school were allowed to curse and insult their students, but it had clearly done the job, so it wasn’t as if the ethics of the situation were important. Now eleven shocked faced were peering up at him.

“We will be seeing nobody’s genitals in this classroom. What you get up to in E1 is none of my business, but this is a no-dick zone. Unless you count the plastic replicas I have for you to practice on.”

“Practice what? Deep-throating?”

“No, Emil, not deep-throating. Putting condoms on. You again, what was your name, sorry?”

Otabek slowly raised his head, sensing the hazel eyes that were burrowing into him. “Um… O-Otabek. Altin.” He said quietly, desperately avoiding eye contact. His face was flushed a post-box red and if you looked close enough, you’d be able to see his hands trembling.

“That’s a rather foreign name. Where are you from, Otabek?” Chris asked, leaning over and smiling kindly at the teenager.

“Almaty. Kazakhstan.”

“Ah! Lovely. I’ve always wanted to go to central Asia. My boyfriend like travelling, see, and- “

 _“Boy_ friend? Do you like it up the ass too, sir?”

All eyes turned to Jean-Jacques, who was either smirking or scowling behind the sunglasses that sat on his face. He didn’t seem to mind the smallest bit that he was suddenly the centre of attention, sitting with his legs spread and elbows resting on his desk. The epitome of arrogant confidence. Probably something to do with that ‘huge ego’ that had been mentioned.

Viktor crossed his arms and prepared for a fight to break out.

“Excuse me, young man?” The tone in Chris’s voice was much less joy-filled than it was previously.

“I’m just asking. Don’t mean no harm.” JJ said with a shrug. “There’s loads of queers in this class.”

“Are _you_ queer?”

“No sir. I got a girl. She’s called Isabelle.”

“Well, then. You don’t get to use the word _queer._ That’s a slur, y’know? And I’m certain Mr Nikiforov isn’t going to tolerate any homophobia in his classroom.” Chris made eye contact with Viktor briefly, sensing the other man’s discomfort.

“Woah, I ain’t homophobic! How can we be homophobic when we share a class with Plisetsky?”

 _Oh, God._ Viktor resisted the impulse to slam his head against the wall behind him. The lesson had been going _so well_ , they were behaving considerably better than they ever did with him. Even with Mila’s dick mantra and the way they giggled like little kids whenever Chris flicked the condom out of his way. But now things were going to get ugly if he didn’t intervene. Yuri had already been provoked once, and if that wasn’t enough to set him off, then watching his friend get humiliated would have pushed him _very_ close to the edge. His fists were probably aching to connect with Leroy’s nose after that comment.

Viktor pushed himself up without a second thought and walked over to stand next to Chris. The first thing he noticed was how tall the other man was. The second thing was that his hands were still covered in lube and were being held awkwardly in front of him.

“Okay, Jean, step outside please. What have I told you about angering and provoking other students? And take those sunglasses off too, it isn’t even bright.” He demanded, raising an eyebrow in a way that hoped made him look threatening and authoritative. Jean-Jacques sighed and looked like he was about to argue, but then surprisingly gave up, shrugged, and stood up too.

“Whatever, teach. Can I go home?”

“No? I mean, no! Stand outside in the corridor. I’ll talk to you afterwards. And give me those glasses.”

“Nah, I’m good thanks.” The dark-haired boy scoffed and kicked his way through the rucksacks on the floor, then let the door slam behind him after he had left. Maybe he would obey Viktor’s words and would just sit in the hallway until he was called in again. Maybe he would disappear to the canteen or the yard or even home. Viktor couldn’t deny that he felt proud of himself for getting at least _someone_ to listen to him, and the surge of satisfaction that came from the idea of calling Jean’s parents if he skipped class sent a small thrill up his spine. Usually he hated people who abused their power as teachers… but Viktor _really_ didn’t like Jean-Jacques Leroy.

“Sorry about that, Chris.” He said, shooting an apologetic look at the visitor. Chris simply nodded an understanding.

“Okay, well, tragically for me but luckily for Otabek, that little incident has brought me to the end of my session. I could only have half a lesson this week, unfortunately, however I’m scheduled for the same time every Thursday. Viktor would like to introduce someone else into the class next, I believe?” The condom and its wrapper were deposited into the bin, along with a lemon-scented handwipe that Chris used to clean his fingers with. “I also have presents for you all.”

For the first time, everyone noticed a small cardboard box that could be seen from inside the suitcase. It was labelled with the word ‘Aufklärungsunterricht’ in black marker pen.

“Are you German, Chris?” Michele narrowed his eyes at the strange spelling, recognising the order of letters and pronunciation from _Rammstein_ songs.

“Ah! Good eye. But nein, I am from Switzerland, though German is my first language. I also speak French and some Italian, as well as English, of course.”

“That’s cool. I’m Italian. So’s my sister, Sara.”

“Lovely! And what is your name?”

“Michele.”

“Nice to meet you, Michele.”

The exchanges between Chris and the students were odd, in Viktor’s eyes. When he tried to talk to them, he got cursed at and insulted and threatened. Until he introduced his ‘rules’, he was getting physically assaulted by paper airplanes every lesson. But with Chris they were calmer, conversational even, as if they trusted him. Perhaps it was because they knew they would only be seeing him once a week? Because he didn’t have the authority to kick them out or phone their parents?

Or perhaps because he was taking an interest in their lives?

Viktor made a mental note to follow his footsteps. After all, he was going to be with these kids for some time. Getting to know them could be valuable in his fight to earn their trust and respect.

“Little goody bags for all of you. Don’t get too excited, there aren’t any candies or fun party toys.” Small black opaque bags were being passed around the class now, enough for one each, with a couple left over. Someone made sure to leave one on Jean-Jacques’ desk for when he was called in again. A small buzz of chatter was floating around the room as everyone turned their bags upside down on the desks, laughing and frowning and groaning at the contents of them.

A selection of condoms (the expensive brands, not shitty supermarket-own types). A morning-after pill. Sachets of lube. A small pamphlet that was entitled ‘symptoms of different STIs’. A larger booklet that explained the importance of safe sex and contained a variety of pie charts detailing the climb in teenage pregnancy rates, the mortality rate of different diseases, and where to go to get help and advice. All in all, it was an uncomfortable assortment of things to be given, but important nonetheless.

“Uh… I don’t need this. Nor do a few of us.” Leo was holding up the pill and side-eyeing Guang Hong. “Do you want us to, like… hand them around to others?”

“Well, those things are expensive as fuck, so I’m sure the girls would appreciate having a couple to spare. Who else doesn’t need one?” Chris walked over to retrieve Leo’s and Guang Hong’s morning-after pill, then looked around the room expectantly. Well, this was a much easier way of figuring out everyone’s sexuality. He made a mental note to remember the faces for future reference.

Otabek and Yuri held theirs out, as did Emil and Minami. Everyone knew that Emil was gay- he flirted with every guy in close proximity- but Minami? Apparently he had sex once out of peer pressure, but other than that, did he even know what intimacy _was?_

“Join the club, Minami!” Emil shouted obnoxiously and reached over to ruffle the dyed-red part of the small boy’s hair. Minami swatted him away and blushed furiously.

“I’m not gay! I’m just… I don’t like anyone, really. I don’t like doing… _that.”_ He gestured vaguely, hoping that they wouldn’t press him for more.

“Ah, no worries. Everyone has their preferences. Keep the condoms just in case though, yeah?” Chris smiled and finished zipping his suitcase up. It looked like it contained other things besides the cardboard box and plastic penis replicas, although the students would have to wait until next week to discover what was inside. Sex ed might turn into the only lesson that didn’t make them want to throw themselves out of the window. They got free stuff, a friendly teacher who didn’t shout at them for putting their feet up on the desk, and an hour and a half away from Nikiforov’s half-angry-half-pitying glances. What was there to complain about?

Chris said his goodbyes and left the room, hauling the suitcase behind him. As the door swung open Viktor cause a glimpse of Jean-Jacques slumped against the wall outside, head in his hands, and he remembered that had disciplining to do before he could move on to the next part of the lesson. The part he was most excited for.

“Talk amongst yourselves. I don’t want to see any condoms lying on the floor when I come back in.” Viktor instructed. He didn’t stop to see their reaction before he took a deep breath, rolled his eyes, and prepared to nurse a migraine that would undoubtedly blossom as the result of the cocky teenager sat outside.

* * *

 

Apparently it wasn’t Viktor who had fallen victim to a headache today. JJ had his head in his hands because he was rubbing his temples, an act that made Viktor frown and drop to his knees besides the boy, who immediately flinched and jerked away, seemingly unaware of the teacher’s presence until that point. He looked up at him with a frown.

Well. Viktor assumed that he was frowning. It was hard to see behind the sunglasses.

“Jean? Are you alright?” He asked sympathetically, moving to put his hand on his back, but thinking better of it. Touching his students without permission would seem shady in the eyes of the law, and Viktor didn’t know how they would react. Everyone in that class seemed to constantly be on edge. Whether it was a sudden loud bang or Viktor accidentally raising his voice, flinching came second nature to them, as if they were expecting something bad to happen. It was curious. Something to keep an eye on.

“I’m fine. You here to yell at me?” JJ said, but his tone had lost the sharp arrogance that it usually contained. Instead he sounded tired, drained, in pain, even. Perhaps he had a migraine? That would explain the sunglasses. Viktor avoided bright lights like the plague whenever his migraines were acting up again.

“I’m not going to shout at you. Does your head hurt? Do you have a migraine?”

“Look, I said I’m fine, alright? Get off my back.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that if you’re in pain, Jean. You should have told me if you weren’t feeling well. I could have sent you home.” Viktor cocked his head and dragged his eyes up and down the teenager. His slumped position, furrowed brows, the way his fingers were laced in his hair. He had to help in some way. He wouldn’t be able to sleep easy if he neglected someone in his care. “Is that why you’re wearing the glasses? Bright lights hurt too much?”

“What? No.” JJ tensed slightly, jerking away as if words made physical contact and were burning his skin.

“No?”

“I mean… Yes. Whatever.”

“Jean. Can you take your glasses off for me, please?” Viktor sensed that something was off about the way JJ was reacting. His boyfriend often did the same thing whenever he was upset; state his feelings, then change his mind, either because he wanted to keep them a secret or because he thought he was being a burden. That was the positives of dating someone with anxiety, Viktor supposed: you quickly learned to pick up on concerning behaviour. Yuuri used to joke about how Viktor should be the therapist, since he had learned to get good at helping during a panic attack or breakdown. Granted, he was useless at first, and froze up in the presence of someone crying. But as their relationship progressed Viktor grew accustomed to the steps he should take.

JJ didn’t respond to the request or even move at all, aside from the shuddering of his shoulders that came from the deep breaths he was taking. Obviously in pain, physically for certain, but maybe mentally, too.

Viktor felt guilty. Five minutes ago he would have jumped at the opportunity to give this boy detention or call his parents. Now he was realising how unfair he was being, how he was beginning to show bias towards students he disliked.

That was something he’d have to work on and stop before it became obvious to everyone else. He was here to help, not single-out certain people and make them feel like shit.

He’d make it up to Jean-Jacques by caring for him and giving him the rest of the day off if he wanted it. But first he needed to find out what was wrong.

“You can talk to me, you know? It’s confidential. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” This time he gathered the courage to place a hand on JJ’s back. Just lightly, just enough to let him know that he wasn’t alone. If it was Yuri or Mila or Michele, Viktor knew he would get shoved away. Part of him expected JJ to do the same.

Surprisingly, he leaned into the gesture and remained there for a few moments before reaching up to remove his glasses.

A silence stretched for a few seconds as Viktor stared. JJ cast his eyes to the floor and wrung his hands together.

“Okay… care to tell me what happened?”

A dark bruise around JJ’s eye clearly showed that his distress was due to more than a simple headache. It was fresh, Viktor could clearly see that by the way the purples and blues had yet to fade to yellows and pinks, as bruises usually did when they were a few days old. Plus, he hadn’t noticed any injuries when JJ came to school the day before. So whatever happened, whether he had been hurt or had just clumsily walked in to something, it would have occurred either after school or in the morning.

Both times where the boy would have been at home.

Viktor didn’t know much about his parents- or any of their parents, to be honest- but by the way JJ’s cheeks had been stained with a blush and his eyes were glued to the carpet, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he had secrets to hide.

Like the faded white scars on Yuri’s arms. The way Leo would pull at his hair when he thought the teacher wasn’t looking. How Guang Hong would flap his hands when he was overwhelmed. All of them had secrets to hide, and as each day passed, Viktor was beginning to understand what Yuri meant just a couple of days previously.

_“Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with, teach?”_

No. Viktor had no idea who these kids were, what they were going through, why they were so angry all the time. And looking down and Jean-Jacques’ crumpled form leaning against the wall now, he was more determined than ever to not give up on them.

“Come on. Let’s get some ice. You can tell me about it when we’re in the nurse’s office.”

The second visitor of the day would have to introduce himself. Viktor had sworn that he would be there to make things easier, since he knew how troublesome his students could be, however more urgent matters had taken priority.

But it was okay. Yuuri would understand.

 

* * *

He was small, Asian, kinda goofy-looking, and appeared to be absolutely _terrified._ He had walked in to the class about 5 minutes after Viktor had left, and was now stood at the front with his arms crossed, glasses sliding down his nose, trying to avoid eye contact. If it wasn’t for the lanyard around his neck, they would have thought he was a lost student. The chubbiness of his cheeks only made him look younger.

“Dude, are you, like, okay?” Michele asked, raising an amused eyebrow at the man before them. Was he a new cover teacher? Had Nikiforov finally done a runner? All of them seemed to have the same curiosity, and were whispering to each other, pointing and giggling and overall not doing much to make the strange man feel comfortable.

The lanyard around his neck was blue, not red like the rest of the teachers had. Sandbrook High liked to use colours to differentiate between the members of staff: red was for teachers, green for caretakers and cleaners, yellow for day-by-day visitors (like Chris, for example), and blue for… they didn’t know. They had never seen someone of that position before. Unless there was a new section in the school, like after-school volunteers or club managers or-

“Hey! You’re the new school counsellor or some shit, right? You got a blue neck thingy. We ain’t had a counsellor for fucking years, dude.” Emil said loudly, grinning at the visitor and leaning over his desk to get closer to him. Judging by the widening of the man’s eyes, Emil was correct.

Great. Just what they needed. Another useless ‘counsellor’ who would tell them to punch a pillow when they were angry and would phone home whenever anything got too concerning.

“I… Yes. Yes, sorry. My name is Mr Katsuki, but you may call me Yuuri.” He smiled faintly and tried to look Emil in the eye. “I will be your new counsellor. Vikt- Mr Nikiforov should have introduced me, but I can see that he’s not here right now.”

“Nah, JJ was being a prick and got kicked out, so sir went to fuck him up or something.”

“I highly doubt that… okay. Never mind. Can I ask your name?”

“Emil Nekola. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, cutie.” Emil winked and earned a groan from the people sitting around him.

Yuuri introduced himself some more, explained where his office was and what times he was available to talk to. Apparently he had a specific day for each block, and Wednesday belonged to the E block, which famously only had one class occupied. And if their faces were anything to go by, E2 were not going to make the most of their allotted time.

They looked annoyed. Offended, even, as if the offer of help and support was outrageous and shocking. Sara had an eyebrow raised. Minami was gaping. Even Seung-gil was paying attention, staring intently at Mr Katsuki with a faint look of disgust on his face.

And Yuri was _fuming._

Mr Katsuki said his goodbyes, told them that Viktor would give them more information later, and then left them on their own again.

“This is bullshit. I have to see this bastard every Wednesday instead of doing Sports. I’m going to fucking kill myself.” Yuri spat as soon as he was out of earshot. He started picking at a splinter on his desk, not caring when it pricked his fingers and made blood bead under his nails.

“Please do not kill yourself.” Otabek said in response. He had calmed down from his previous embarrassment and was now sat zoning out and trying to process everything he had just learned.

“Remember what happened last time they made me see a school counsellor?” The blond fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves. “They made me pull my sleeves up and phoned home to tell my mom. Didn’t even fucking help me or nothing. Mom beat the shit out of me, my mental health just got worse afterwards. If that happens again it’s going to push me over the edge, I fucking swear.”

He sighed and leaned back, just as his stomach rumbled. Another reminder of how fucked up his home life was.

“God. I need to cut.” His eyes flickered closed. Partly out of fatigue, partly to hide their sudden wetness.

What was _up_ with these mood swings? They had always bothered him, but had gotten worse lately, and would leave him exhausted. He blamed it on hormones and hoped it wasn’t the symptom of _another_ mental illness to deal with. Depression was awful enough. Yuri splayed his hand over his stomach to silence its complaints and leaned into Otabek’s waiting arms.

“Try not to. I’d offer to let you stay around tonight, but… My parents…”

“Yeah, I know. It’s okay. Thanks anyway, Beka.”

They sat like that for a few moments. Yuri appreciating the warmth of his best friend, listening to his heartbeat, breathing in that familiar shampoo scent. Wishing not for the first time that they could just stay like that forever.

The answer was simple, really. They couldn’t _make_ him talk. They couldn’t _force_ him to open up.

So he wouldn’t.

Eyes of a soldier. And soldiers never cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im thinking of making the next chapter Very Angsty so keep that in mind. I've got a plot figured out but due to Yuri's inability to open up, it might take a few more angst-filled chapters to get to the main points.


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to update- college has been eating me. enjoy a longer chapter as an apology. I'll be working on updating Haze next- the chapter might not come out for a week or two, but it's coming, I promise.
> 
> tw: explicit self harm references in this chapter, along with mentions of suicidal thoughts. Please don't read this if you're in a bad place, and please try to resist the urge if you struggle with self-destructive impulses and the need to trigger yourself. My tumblr is either @milkhsake or @otabeshka if anyone needs to talk- i don't really post on either of them, however I'm always logged in and get message notifications
> 
> <3 enjoy i love you all

The 5am sun was peeking over the buildings, casting a faint orange glow onto the park in which he sat. Clouds of lilac, blue, pale pink were faint wisps in the sky, reflecting the rays and dancing in the slight breeze that made his hair blow softly and nearly catch on the end of his cigarette. He groaned, flicked them away again, tucked blond strands behind his ears. Exhaustion and that well-known feeling of numbness were slowly starting to settle in his bones once more.

With tired eyes he glanced down at his right arm. Yuri was left-handed, a trait he must have got from his deadbeat father’s side of the family, a trait that made life that slightest bit more frustrating when it came to tackling right-handed scissors and smudging the ink of his pen as he wrote. His right hand was basically useless. Many times he wished he had the talents of ambidexterity, and many times he had rolled his eyes at the awareness that he’d have to put _effort_ in to developing such a skill.

Even though he couldn’t grip a blade properly with his right hand, his left hand functioned perfectly well in that sense, leaving his right arm the waiting victim of his 2am breakdowns and panic attacks and 6-hour-long episodes of dissociation. It was lying on his lap now, looking much more gruesome than it actually was thanks to the chunks of dried blood that clung to the edges of his cuts. Of course he had forgotten to pick up his antiseptic wipes when he practically threw himself out of his bedroom window a few hours previously.

At least they had mostly stopped bleeding now, save for a couple of stubborn ones which wouldn’t stop teasing him with those red droplets no matter how many times he wiped it away with his sleeve. The stung like _fuck_ , all of them did, partly due to the fact that his blade was pretty dull but mostly because he had cut on top of half-healed wounds and old scars.

It was a part of the process, he knew that. The sting reminded him of his pain and his fuck-ups, et cetera et cetera, however at this point he just wanted to be able to push his sleeve down again without wincing so he could go home and take care of them properly. It was a Sunday night (well, technically Monday morning now) and school started in a few hours. Mister Nikiforov wouldn’t appreciate a student showing up covered in red stains.

Yet a stronger part of him just… didn’t care. Didn’t care about class, didn’t care about his mother’s reactions, didn’t care about rubbing cream into his cuts and bandaging them to protect them from infection. He just wanted to sit on the bench in the park, watch the sun come up, and forget.

Honestly, he didn’t care about himself at all.

Maybe it had been the last thing she had said to him that prompted this sudden realisation. For the past four years of his life he had been so desperately clinging to any hope within arm’s reach; Otabek’s love, the idea of finally passing his exams, wishing that maybe someday his Grandpa would miraculously regain health and the two of them could escape. Even tiny things like a hot meal every now and then, courtesy of his best friend’s lunch box. Hell, if you told him 6 months ago that the canteen would soon start supplying free bottles of water, he would have marked the date into his calendar and used _that_ as his reason to live. For four years Yuri had been relying on his survival instinct and doing whatever he could to come out alive.

And now… he didn’t know why he cut anymore. It used to be so he could write his pain on his skin and use that agony as a distraction from suicide. Every cruel word and self-deprecating thought could be carved into his flesh and it _hurt,_ it _scarred_ and it _bled_ like a motherfucker, but at least he knew that it was real. He knew that his pain was real and he knew that _he_ was real. He bled like a human being and he could come out strong like a human being.

Now, as he was sitting on the cold metal bench, looking at the mess on his forearm and the blood that glittered in the orange glow, he didn’t feel that sensation of calm and vague strength that usually came after a relapse. Instead he just felt empty.

All the warmth from Otabek or a hot meal couldn’t melt the sharp-edged ice block that had made its home in his soul.

 _“Why do you even try? Why haven’t you given up yet?”_ That was what she had said to him. Alcohol-stained breath and alcohol-stained teeth snarling at him, blond hair a ratty mess, glass eyes staring at him and daring him to answer.

And then he broke, he supposed. Who knew. He thought that realising that he had given up would have come as a shock, prompted a meltdown and a suicide attempt. In reality he had just shrugged it off and labelled it as a new stage in his life.

Before he was Yuri Plisetsky: abuse and self-harm victim, eyes of a soldier and heart of a survivor. Now he was an empty shell whose eyes were fading and his heart was choking on the nicotine and tar he inhaled with every puff of his cigarette.

Soon children would be waking up, dragging their parents out to drop them off at school, walking past the park. Perhaps wanting to stop for a quick push on the swings. Yuri couldn’t subject little kids to the sight of him bleeding on a bench- he was an asshole but he wasn’t heartless, for fucks sake- and so he forced his legs to take his weight and function long enough to take him back to the run down two-bedroom apartment. (His Grandpa had one room, his mother had the other. Yuri had converted the broom cupboard into an extremely uncomfortable den which included a few blankets, pillows, a string of half-working fairy lights and some cardboard boxes which held his clothes. Otabek had never been around his house and his ‘bedroom’ was one of the reasons why Yuri prohibited him from doing so.)

When he silently stepped through the threshold of his apartment, it took everything in him to resist throwing himself on the couch and passing out for 6 hours, so he could get the rest his body craved and so he could avoid going to school. Friday had been difficult to struggle through- Viktor was being extra annoying lately and insisted on asking everyone weirdly personal questions about their lives- and the thought of having to sit through yet another week of bullshit made his heart sink. Not to mention he now had to go to counselling on Wednesdays.

But he never looked forward to the weekend, either. How could he when all he received was beatings and new cuts and a nudge towards ending it all? School was torture, but staying at home was terrifying. At least at school he had food to eat and a friend to give it to him.

In the end, Yuri turned away from the couch, lazily bandaged his arm up, and tugged on his school uniform. His hair was greasy and he could use a shower, and he knew the school building would be empty at such an early time, but he didn’t want to be at home anymore. He’d end up hurting himself again- or worse. He didn’t want Grandpa to find his grandson-slash-carer bleeding out in the bathroom.

He stepped out into the early morning sunrise once more and regretfully made his way towards the promise of Nikiforov’s infuriating smile.

* * *

 

As much as he hated early mornings, Viktor couldn’t deny that waking up in his boyfriend’s arms made the ordeal less… well, less of an ordeal. More of an inconvenience that left him mentally begging for a couple of hours more sleep or at least a mug of coffee. He wasn’t exactly a sleep-until-noon kind of person- the thought of wasting an _entire_ morning more often than not encouraged him to get out of bed- but 6am was just ridiculous. Birds were barely awake at 6am. If birds weren’t awake, then Viktor saw no reason why he should be awake.

The way Yuuri would nuzzle into his chest and mumble nonsensical affirmations made everything that little bit more bearable. The two of them would lay still for ten minutes, just inhaling each other’s scent and smiling as their breathing synchronised.  Eventually they would have to get up, argue over who was going to shower first, and eat breakfast before stumbling out the door towards their shared car. But until then, those precious few minutes just existing together did a great job In lifting Viktor’s mood.

“How have your first few days been, love?” He asked through a mouthful of cornflakes, glancing up at Yuuri. The Japanese man was sipping his second mug of tea and looking like he wanted nothing more than to just curl back up in bed.

“It was good. Made a few appointments with students, most of them seem pretty co-operative. My training instructor told me that you’ll always get a few stubborn kids who refuse help, but I’ve yet to come across that problem.” He smiled as he talked, and Viktor couldn’t help but swoon at the slight curve of his lip and the way the steam from the tea fogged up his glasses.

“Well, wait until you get someone from my class.” Viktor laughed slightly. “They barely talk about the work they’re set, let alone about personal problems.” He quickly recounted over everything he had learned about his students in the past week; how defensive and rude they were, how quick they were to anger, how even the quiet ones like Minami or Guang Hong looked like they were about to have a breakdown at any given moment. “And trust me, they have a _lot_ of personal problems.”

Yuuri exhaled through his nose and closed his eyes. “Yeah? What do you know about them?”

“Y’know… technically I’m not allowed to discuss students outside of work.”

“Well, yeah, but I’m the counsellor. You’ll have to tell me at some point anyway. What difference would it make if we’re at home, and not on school property?” He did make a good point, and Viktor nodded in agreement.

“That’s true. Well, I don’t know a whole lot about them. I’m not going to use names to lift a little bit of guilt, but in a nutshell: one of them came in with a black eye on Thursday, most of them seem to have anger problems, a couple are extremely hyperactive. Like, vibrating-in-chair hyperactive. Constantly forgetting what they’re doing or getting distracted easily.” Of course he was describing Minami and, to some extent, also Emil (who drove Viktor crazy with how often he would stand up to go and collect some paper or stationary, forget what he was doing halfway, and turn back around. Rinse and repeat three times every period and it was easy to understand why Viktor always came home with a stress headache).

“Sounds like ADHD. I can’t be certain based on second-hand descriptions, though. Anything else?”

Viktor pressed his lips together and weighed up the pros and cons of disclosing the other things he had seen. On the plus side, it would take a load off his chest- keeping such secrets to himself was weighing on him greatly- and he would be able to get a professional counsellors opinion. Yuuri could give him tips regarding what to look out for, what to do in times of crisis, when to intervene and take things into his own hands.

On the negative side… What if Yuuri freaked out and insisted Viktor contact the parents? What if both of them would face negative consequences for discussing the private details of the students? What if they both realised they were way out of their depth and had no idea where to go next?

No, that was stupid. Yuuri wouldn’t freak out- he was a professional. Nobody would find out that they had been talking about the students, and besides, like Yuuri said, Viktor would have to tell him at some point. And keeping it in was _really_ dragging him down.

If the positives outweighed the negatives, then…

“There’s this boy. He’s very quick to anger, he’s very verbally violent. Threatens to beat people up a lot, stuff like that. Would probably act on those words, too, considering how frustrated he gets at the smallest things. On Friday his pencil snapped when he was writing and he threw it at the window.”

A quiet hum came from Yuuri, who was looking at Viktor over the edge of his mug. “So he has anger problems. Usually relatively simple to help with. Teach them coping methods, alternative ways to release their frustration. First thing you learn in training. Basic stuff most of the time.”

“Yeah, but… I think there’s… more to it? Kind of? I don’t know, babe, I’m not the counsellor. He just… He has, like…”

Viktor flapped his hands, struggling to get the words out. He didn’t know why it was so hard to say. Just one sentence, just a few words to reveal what he had noticed, yet they seemed to get caught in his throat and refused to move. As if there was something prohibited about it. Something forbidden, almost, and he didn’t know whether that feeling was from societal stereotypes or a weird hybrid of fear and concern. In the end he swallowed deeply and settled on word vomiting.

“It was Wednesday, right, and we’re painting the classroom. Like I told you I was planning to do with them, get rid of the graffiti and all. Everything is going great, I’m stood in the corner observing, and all of a sudden I hear this agonised-sounding whimper. Turns out it’s coming from Y- …the boy. The one with the anger problems. He’s curled up on the floor, he’s fucking hyperventilating and digging his nails into his arms, and I’m like, ‘what the fuck? What happened? What do I do?’”

“Right, okay. Well-“

“Oh, no, that isn’t everything. So I tell the other kids to get out, go down to the canteen or the yard or whatever. Everyone leaves except his friend. Who’s also kind of strange but that’s another story. The boy is tensed and trembling at this point, and his friend is telling me not to touch him. So I don’t. Takes him about ten minutes before he relaxes and finally looks up at me.”

“What does he say?”

“That’s the weird thing. Obviously all of it is weird, but for a second his façade just… drops. He looks like a scared kid and not a messed-up teenager who insists on making himself look unapproachable. Then I asked him if something was bothering him at home and he gets all defensive and angry again.”

A small silence passed between them as Yuuri processed the new information and Viktor chewed on a hangnail. It was no secret that Viktor was teaching a notoriously difficult class- everyone knew that class the students of class E2 were on everyone’s ‘avoid at all times’ list- but he still felt bad putting this all on Yuuri. Especially so early into his job.

It seemed like hours had gone by before either of them spoke again. Viktor was well aware that he was immediately throwing Yuuri into the deep end, that he was asking a lot from his boyfriend. When it was barely 7 o’clock in the morning the last thing anyone wanted to do was analyse the mental health of a teenager. Even a trained counsellor had trouble dealing with some things; Yuuri often came home stressed and upset while he was in training, usually because he had been dealing with a particularly troubling case or because the accumulation of small problems and dilemmas had built up to an unbearable level. Talking about everything from schizophrenia to mild anxiety as a job was destined to become difficult to deal with.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy his job, however. Viktor knew how much he loved his field of work, how much he had wanted to help others ever since he was a kid himself, how much determination and effort Yuuri put in. When he got his degree and landed a job at Sandbrook high it was celebration-worthy and one of the happiest days of his life. His endless love and compassion was one of the many things that had ultimately made Viktor fall in love with him.

Yet, as the two of them sat and stood in the kitchen, struggling to keep their eyes open, Viktor couldn’t help but feel bad for just… not keeping this information to himself. Explaining how his students were always angry and restless hadn’t seemed like a big deal. What teenager wasn’t angry and restless? Yuuri had taken that information in his stride and had immediately proposed the concept of ADHD, he didn’t hesitate to explain how anger management worked within therapy. Those first few sentenced had been easy to get out and Viktor was grateful to have someone to listen.

But explaining in detail the breakdown of one of his students had been emotionally exhausting for him, let alone Yuuri, who was no doubt mentally calculating what to do next, how to approach this, the who-why-what of the situation. That was what he had to do every second of the working day and Viktor had promised himself that he wouldn’t add to that.

And the breakdown wasn’t everything. There was that one other thing too, the thing that was eating him away most. Every time he closed his eyes for the past couple days he kept seeing that image branded behind his eyelids. He didn’t want to tell Yuuri, although at the same time he didn’t want to keep it to himself, drowning in concern and uncertainty.

Viktor had promised to be a good teacher to these kids and he wasn’t about to give up this easily.

“And one more thing.” The silver-haired man eventually broke the silence and looked up to meet brown eyes. "He... His sleeves rode up slightly. Just a tiny bit. But his wrists had... They were, like... covered in self harm scars." That part was the hardest to say. Viktor hadn’t dealt with those kinds of situations before, he was aware of what self harm was, obviously, as most people were, but that Wednesday afternoon was the first time he had come face-to-face with the reality. After he had stuttered through his sentence he became instantly fascinated by a piece of dry skin on his lip and was desperately trying to peel it off with his teeth.

Yuuri placed his mug in the sink and ran his hands through his still slightly damp hair. “New or old?”

“Hmm?”

“Like, were they fresh cuts or white scars?”

“Oh! Well, they were white. He’s a pale kid, I would have noticed if he had fresh cuts.”

“Alright. When you say ‘covered’, are you exaggerating? Were there a cluster of them or just a few?”

Yuuri was clearly invested now, and he didn’t even look annoyed. His elbows were positioned on the table, he was leaning towards Viktor, and he had a genuine expression of interest and concern on his face. All of these things were a great comfort for a very self-conscious Russian.

“I mean… I didn’t count. Only a couple of inches of skin were exposed. Though I could tell that they extended past the cuff of his sleeves. I’d say there were a significant amount, maybe ten or twenty? Maybe more? They were all thin and faded and I could barely see them even when I was up close. It was just strange and it’s been eating me; I don’t know what to do, or even if I _should_ do anything, I don’t know if this is an ongoing thing or it happened years ago or-“

“Babe, it’s okay. You’re not the counsellor; you don’t have to deal with this alone.” Yuuri placed a comforting hand on the other’s forearm and stroked his thumb up and down on pale skin.

“Yeah… Yeah, I know. It was just so weird. And apparently, his entire breakdown was just because he didn’t want to do _Sport_ class and so I…” He froze suddenly and winced, realising the mistake he had just made. “Oh. Fuck.”

So much for confidentiality.

“Are you talking about… Yuri Plisetsky? The student I’ll be seeing every Wednesday because you excused him from Sport?”

“Uh… Perhaps?”

“God, love, you’re awful at being subtle.” A small chuckle escaped Yuuri’s lips and Viktor knew that he wasn’t mad. “Well, okay. I’m very against contacting home until I know a lot more about the situation; some school counsellors don’t realise that calling the parents can make things worse. I’ll keep an eye on him. Talk to him a bit during our sessions.”

“Good luck. He’s a very closed-off kid. Something tells me that he’s been through a lot.”

“Viktor. I’m trained. I’m good at my job. Closed-off kids are my _specialty._ ” The Japanese man winked cutely and patted his boyfriend’s hand. “Come on, move your ass. We gotta get to work. I’ve got paperwork to do and you’ve got marking to finish.”

* * *

 

They pulled up in their usual parking space, next to an empty bank of grass and nowhere near the pavement that snaked around the outside of the school in an effort to avoid vandalism to the beloved vehicle. It was an old thing, nowhere near the grand automobile that Viktor dreamed of owning, but it did the trick. It also wasn’t worth a lot so they wouldn’t be losing very much if some brat decided to throw a brick through the windscreen.

Very few people had arrived- that much was obvious by the fact that Viktor could count how many lights were on in the building on one hand- however the main entrance was unlocked, and that was all that mattered. A couple of janitors and cleaners nodded a greeting as the two men made their way towards Viktor’s classroom. Students didn’t start arriving until 8:30am usually (save from those who got in early to do homework), so Yuuri could hang out until that time. Sip on a third cup of tea to stop himself from passing out as he watched Viktor flick through half-finished essays and frown at the doodles that decorated Emil’s work.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice kid,” Viktor had said one evening while recounting the masterpiece that was a biro-sketch of Michele on a pogo stick, “but _god_ he’s nuts. You know what he said to me the other day? He looked me right in the eye, pointed at me, and just went ‘ _math is for capitalists, and I refuse to participate.’_ He then literally _stood up_ , as if he was going to leave, and pouted at me when I told him to sit the fuck down.”

“Oh, wow. Do you know much about him?” Yuuri had been hiding a smile behind his hand and trying to imagine sharing a class with this kid.

“Not really. He doesn’t seem too… troubled. I think he got kicked out of his normal class for shouting out too much and pissing off the teacher.”

“Hmm… might be an attention thing. A lot of students who are acting up do it because they want someone to notice them.”

Viktor had nodded thoughtfully in response. “That makes sense. I’ll see if I can find out more. It’s just hard when I’ve got ten other students to keep an eye on.”

When he had first joined the class, Viktor thought that managing eleven students would be easy, especially since the average class had way over twenty. But then again he didn’t consider that the average class wasn’t full of nightmare teenagers who insisted on doing the complete opposite to everything he said. ‘“Pack your bags up, it’s time to go”’ had turned into ‘“ _no,_ Jean, I did _not_ mean ‘tip everything onto the floor”’ far too many times.

 As the two of them were approaching the E block, he couldn’t help but feel like he was losing. He had yet to make much progress with them- sure, his ‘rules’ had created the foundations of a halfway-decent class- but he wasn’t making any significant differences. At this point he had imagined that they would all respect him at least a tiny bit, that they would _pretend_ to be interested in simultaneous equations and _Lord of the Flies._ Yet they remained as stubborn and rude as ever.

He had to remind himself that he had barely been there for a week. These kids were used to being continuously abandoned by teacher after teacher, they had never had anyone to make them believe in themselves, they were dealing with things outside of school and felt like they had no one to turn to. Deep down, Viktor understood that. Giving up now would go against everything he believed in. He just wished that he had a magic wand and could make everything okay.

“The E block is so quiet. Ghostly, almost.” Yuuri wrapped his arms around himself as if the department was five degrees colder than the rest of the school. You had to ascend a small flight of stairs until you came to face the classrooms, all except one being empty at all times. Some strange, unidentified feeling had prevented Viktor from looking into the rooms of E1 and E3-E6. As if they were sacred territory.

A stupid feeling, of course, but when he could hear the pattering of rain outside and it was only just past 7am, he couldn’t help but agree that there was a chilling presence about the place.

“There’s no ghosts here, babe, don’t worry.”

The smile didn’t quite meet his eyes.

And the smile immediately dropped from his lips when they reached the top of the stairs and saw a small, pale figure sitting outside of the brown door which had ‘E2’ carved into the wood.

They had their head between their knees, arms hugging their legs, trying to make themselves as small as possible. Their skin looked paper-white against the dark oak door and a few strands of blond hair had escaped from the brain that draped across their shoulder. Obviously they were a student, since they were dressed in a very ragged version of the ugly forest-green and black uniform, yet they looked so _small_ that Viktor wondered if one of the infants had stumbled into the E block instead of the A block.

Yuuri quirked an eyebrow at him and took a step forward, but Viktor quickly held his hand out to stop him. The person hadn’t seemed to notice that they were there.

There was something familiar about them. Maybe something about their posture, or their shoes (scuffed-up black combat boots; definitely against uniform regulations), or the blond hair, or the way their nails seemed to be digging into the flesh of their calves…

“…Yuri? Yuri Plisetsky?” This time it was Viktor who took a step forward, then another, and another until he was only a metre away from the teenager. His boyfriend had followed him but Viktor barely noticed; he was concentrated solely on the person before him. The fact that there was no response was instantly concerning and he placed a hand on the blazer-covered shoulder.

Sandbrook’s uniform was hideous, it looked uncomfortable, and it was overpriced. The blazers had thick shoulder pads sewn into them to help retain their shape and make the students look ‘smarter’, or something like that. All Viktor knew was that everyone complained about them and it made them look like militant officers.

Even through that thick layer, Viktor could clearly feel the sharp shoulder bones and worryingly-prominent collar bones as he gently touched the crumpled teen. He daren’t apply any more pressure or move his hand even a millimetre, since Yuri didn’t seem like someone who would appreciate physical contact, however the few seconds that he spent with his hand on his shoulder did nothing to ease his concerns. It was an odd thing to recognise, perhaps, and he had bigger immediate problems than a bony 16-year-old. But something about it made him remember things that he hadn’t even payed attention to before: the hollowness of his cheekbones, the gap between his thighs, how white his knuckles turned when he clenched his hands due to skin pulling taught against bone.

Viktor was a clever man. No matter how much Yuri refused to speak, how adamant he was to keep everything bottled up, there was no denying some things. Scars and hollow cheekbones were visible clues that something had been wrong for a long, long time.

Luckily they could clearly hear Yuri’s breathing, which was even and relaxed and suggested that he was asleep. The two men frowned, wondering why he was here so early, and above all why he was sleeping against the classroom door, and made eye contact in a silent question of “what do we do?”. Waking him up seemed cruel and they ran the risk of scaring him. Leaving him uncomfortably curled up on the dirty carpet floor seemed worse.

“Hey, Yuri? Are you here with us?” Yuuri crouched down and lightly shook the blond’s other shoulder. “Yuri? It’s me, Mr Katsuki, and Viktor. Can you look at us, please?” His voice was soft, not demanding or aggressive, and slightly louder than a whisper. In the close proximity there was no way that it wouldn’t wake Yuri.

Sure enough, the boy groaned and wrapped his arms tighter around his legs, a sign that he was waking and that Viktor and Yuuri should back off. They removed their hands and shuffled backwards a couple of steps so they wouldn’t crowd or overwhelm him with the sight of two faces staring down. Viktor actually fell back on his heels and positioned himself cross-legged, hoping it would make him look more approachable.

Green eyes blinked tiredly, and a pale hand reached up to wipe the remains of sleep away and push the hair out of his face. He was confused, that much was clear, judging by the frown on his face and the way he was looking around him as if he had forgotten where he was. Viktor and Yuuri were the last shadows he cast his eyes to- and when he did, those irises instantly widened out of fear or embarrassment or surprise and a squeak escaped his throat.

In this position, Viktor could easily see the dark circles of fatigue that sat under his eyes, the painfully dry skin on his lips, the way his skin had a somewhat grey tinge to it. Okay, maybe the grey was due to the bad lighting coming from the occasionally-flickering bulb above them; however there was no denying how _unhealthy_ he looked. An exhausted skeleton in green uniform. And the way he was just staring, frozen in place as if he had forgotten to move only added to the concern in Viktor that intensified every passing day.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s okay, Yuri, you can relax. We’re here to help.” Yuuri’s verbal comforts were always so much more eloquent than Viktor’s were and he was grateful that they had decided to walk to class together.

The blond relaxed slightly at the words, and cast his eyes to the floor. He made a sound of discomfort and rubbed his hands over his face again. Ragged breathing suggested that he was either on the edge of a panic attack or had a sore throat- probably both- and it took a few moments before he could speak. In the meantime he alternated between bending his fingers backwards (ignoring Yuuri’s gentle scolds of _“hey, don’t do that”)_ and picking at his nails.

Which was an interesting observation. Viktor made a mental note that he liked to keep his hands busy when he was stressed.

When Yuri did eventually speak, he said the last thing that anyone would expect from him.

“Sorry.”

The men shared looks of uncertainty and a frown, before turning back to him and putting on their calmest, hopefully-not-patronising smile.

“What are you sorry for, Yuri? You haven’t done anything wrong.” Viktor reassured. Yuri mirrored their frowns and looked back at them.

“Cut the crap. I fell asleep outside your stupid classroom. Of course you’re angry at me.” Not even his curses had as much bite as they usually did. He just sounded tired, and sad, and maybe… scared? Cautious? Another emotion lay deep in his tone and Viktor wasn’t sure what it was.

“We’re not angry at all. Actually, we’re rather concerned.” Yuuri spoke this time, since he was better at detecting and dealing with emotions in a trained way that his boyfriend lacked. “Can you tell us why you’re in school so early?”

Yuri shrugged and turned his head away. “I just… wanted to.”

“You… _wanted_ to come to school? Even though you knew it would be basically empty?”

“Yeah, so what? I like quiet.” The defensive tone was back, he was building the wall again, and soon it would be impossible to get anything out of him. Viktor knew that and tried to think of the right thing to say.

“Have you had breakfast?”

In his limited experience, he was rather proud of himself for that detour. Yuuri had once said that caring about the basic needs of a patient was often the first step in getting them to trust you. Ask them if everything was okay at home (though that didn’t work for Yuri), ask them if they want something to drink, if they were warm enough, if they felt comfortable and safe in their environment. And if they had ate- and judging by the way Yuri’s face lit up and then fell in a split second, the answer to the question was an obvious ‘no’ without him having to say anything.

“Okay. Well, it’s pretty cold out here, don’t you think? Why don’t we go down to the counsellor’s office and we’ll get you fed. You can just curl up on one of the couches. Does that sound good?” Yuuri asked, quick to pick up on Viktor’s intentions.

“Uh… yeah. But…”

“But?”

“I ain’t got, like…. I haven’t…” The blond mumbled something incoherent.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I haven’t got any money! I can’t fucking pay you back, or whatever the fuck! _God!”_ That trademark anger had returned and he fisted his hands in his hair, pulling chunks loose from the hastily-tied braid, gripping onto the strands in a way that most definitely pulled at his scalp and caused him pain. Yuuri was quick to respond and carefully tapped the backs of Yuri’s hands, whispering affirmations and calming words in a mixture of English and Japanese.

“It’s alright, we don’t expect you to pay. Can you unclench your hands, please? Yuri? Unclench your hands for me.” Only a professional had such flair and precision at talking to troubled teenagers, and Viktor was grateful that Yuuri was by his side. If he were alone, he would undoubtedly be freaking out and doing everything wrong. Yuuri’s words were much more effective at helping the stressed-out boy, and after a short while Yuri relaxed once again and flexed his hands to ease any cramps. He was clearly embarrassed at having shown so much emotion, however Viktor would rather him be embarrassed than self-destructing or edging towards another breakdown.

The three of them stood, with Yuuri and Viktor keeping an eye on the blond’s shaking legs, and crossed a few corridors and blocks until they located the counsellors room. Viktor had never been inside before, and immediately noticed how different it was to the rest of Sandbrook. While classrooms were full of sharp edges and wooden tables, the counsellors room- or rooms, since the main office was surrounded by doors leading to separate areas- was cushioned with beanbags, couches, pillows, blankets. Even a dog bed lay in the corner (which was rather curious; there weren’t any pets to be seen). All in all, the place was extremely welcoming and the aroma of a soft lavender did a fantastic job at reducing stress and troubles.

“That room is free all day.” Yuuri pointed at the furthest door, which had a poster on the front with the words ‘YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL’ printed on it in a big, blue font. Yuri visibly rolled his eyes at such a corny thing but made his way towards it regardless, Yuuri following behind. “Viktor will get you some food. There’s beanbags and an armchair inside; make yourself comfortable. You can turn the main lamp on if you want some light, but there’s also some fairy lights if you’d prefer something dimmer.”

“Yuri, take the rest of the morning off, hm?” Viktor called to him before he closed the door. “Come back for last period if you feel like it. We’re only watching the rest of _Lord of the Flies_ in English anyway, and second period is math, however you seem to have got the grips with basic algebra.”

Yuri nodded gratefully, and was about to disappear into the small room so he could eat and sleep, but turned back at the last minute.

“Viktor?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you send Otabek here at break or whatever?”

“I can do better. I’ll send him here as soon as he arrives. Would you like that?”

A glimmer of a smile appeared on the teen’s face- and disappeared as quick as it came. “Yeah.”

Viktor made brief eye contact with Yuuri, signalling that he was going to go, and turned towards the exit, hoping that Otabek wasn’t late to school for once in his life.

“W-wait.”

“Hmm? Everything okay?”

Yuri was frowning deeply, nibbling on his lip, as if something was bothering him. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he could finally choke the words out.

“Uh… Thanks. For… all this. I guess.”

Both men smiled, although they tried to hide it so as to not embarrass him or scare him away from showing his gratitude. Viktor nodded once in his direction. “It’s not a problem, Yuri. We’re always here for you. I’ll come back with your food, and then I insist on you having a nap.”

This time Yuri _did_ look flustered and annoyed, and shut the door almost immediately. Viktor didn’t mind. He was just grateful that he had let them help him.

It was a development, he supposed. A tiny one, and a situation that hopefully wouldn’t happen again, yet it was a step in the right direction.

He should have felt comforted, knowing that Yuri was going to be looked after, but instead he just felt… he didn’t even know. Stressed? Uneasy? Concerned?

He felt like he was missing something. The walls of defence had been cracked _too_ easily, as if Yuri wasn’t bothering to maintain his mask of indifference and anger. And the reason why he was in school so early didn’t make any sense, either, and all of them knew it.

Time would tell whether Viktor was just being paranoid, or if he had a reason to feel so uncomfortable. He did know one thing, however: he had to pay more attention to the small details. If he had missed how skinny his student was, what else had he missed? Was anyone else self harming? Were they wearing scruffy clothes as a fashion statement, or because they had no way of getting clean uniform? Did they fall asleep in class because they were bored, or because they weren’t getting enough rest at home?

He had only been in his job for a week, and he was already in the deep end.

Viktor Nikiforov: cover teacher had turned into Viktor Nikiforov: cover teacher, concerned parental figure, and most likely the only person who had ever had hope for these kids.

And he was stubborn. He was invested in their safety and comfort, their mental health and wellbeing.

He promised himself that he would help them, that he would be there for them, and that he would get them to open up so he could find out _why_ they came in covered in bruises or _why_ their arms were decorated with white scars.

If he thought dealing with a breakdown was hard work, then he was in no way prepared for the other things he would face as the days began to tick by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will be a small time skip because i dont want to write it day-by-day, however soon the plot should pick up and it'll get Juicy And Dramatic


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyy so uh.... sorry for the 3 month wait rip  
> but like I've said- I'm not abandoning any of my fics! They'll just... not be updated as often. I'm not going to estimate when the next updates will be because I have no idea. I don't want to get anyone's hopes up, but please know that they're not abandoned!  
> This chapter contains explicit mentions of self destructive behaviour, suicidal thoughts, abuse, your usual angsty shit.  
> There's not toooo much plot in this, it's more of an emotions dump. But it leads in to the major plot point  
> Hope its okay!! And thanks for sticking around so long lmao <3

Two weeks had passed since Nikiforov had walked into their lives, and as much as they pretended to hate him, the kids of class E2 couldn’t deny that he was the best teacher they had ever had. Sure, he was infuriating, and nosy, and _far_ too cheerful. His constant questions and attempted motivation made them roll their eyes and huff at every command and order. He gave them too much homework, expected so much of them, didn’t let them skip lesson or even shout out in class. Any other cover teacher was a walk in the park compared to him.

But he was kind. Understanding. Firm and stubborn when he needed to be, yet also gentle and helpful. When he first walked through the door, he was faced with a group of fucked up kids who barely knew their times tables. Now he was teaching fucked up kids with slightly better coping mechanisms who were finally starting to understand algebra.

Well, ‘slightly better coping mechanisms’ was maybe an overstatement. Viktor still noticed every suspicious bandage around a wrist, every outburst of anger, the lingering scent of cigarettes coming from the breath of young teenagers. As much as he had tried to gain insight into their lives, he was no closer to finding out the causes of their trouble. That was his next challenge: convince them to see the god damn counsellor.

And he hadn’t left. Yet, at least, but 14 days later and he was still going strong. No teacher had ever stayed that long with them before. No wonder they never learned anything- every staff member to set foot in E2 left with a migraine and a newfound hatred of teenagers.

Viktor was different. Whether that was a good thing or not was undecided amongst them. But he had _stayed,_ and he was _trying_ , and honestly, that alone left them in a state of surprise and admiration.

Two weeks since Viktor had arrived at Sandbrook, and nearly one week since Yuuri had started his job as the official counsellor. Having his boyfriend work alongside him was difficult in ways they never expected. They weren’t allowed to embrace in the corridor, or exchange anything other than professional greetings and small talk. It was forced and stupid. And mildly hilarious.

Since E2 was home to the notoriously troubled kids of the school, Yuuri was mostly left with those who were dealing with stress problems or anxiety or a small issue at home. For the most part, his job was relatively easy. Give them textbook advice, make a plan, possibly chuck them a pamphlet on ‘Ways to Cope with Stress’ if the situation required it. Every now and then he’d get a shitty 12-year-old who was acting up too much in math class, but they usually calmed down pretty quickly. Threaten them with after-school detention and they took shutting up over entertaining their friends every time.

 Obviously he couldn’t share the personal information of students with his boyfriend, however Viktor was good at reading body language and had an idea of who pissed Yuuri off, who left him even more exhausted after a long day. Some days he came home happy and optimistic. Other days he passed out on the couch before even taking his shoes off.

Surprisingly, Wednesday wasn’t one of the days that left him half-asleep. The day he spoke with Yuri.

“He doesn’t talk.” Yuuri had that Wednesday evening. “He just… sat. Played on his phone. Glared at me when I asked him how he was feeling, and that bruise- did you see that bruise around his eye?”

“I did.” Viktor frowned slightly.

“He always covers his eye with his hair… Anyway, I asked him about it. Y’know, nothing too invasive. Just ‘want to talk about what happened to your eye?’”. Yuuri’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “I’ve never seen someone go from one to a hundred so quickly. I thought he was going to hit me.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was so _angry_ , babe. Defensive and angry. He literally got off the couch and backed away from me, then told me to fuck off and to open the door so he could leave.” The dark-haired man shook his head sadly. “Of course, I couldn’t do that, since I knew for a fact he would skip the next period. I apologised and backed off and that seemed to make him feel better. It was just… strange. Kind of concerning, but what can I do? How can I make him _trust_ me?”

Viktor sighed and closed his eyes. Ever since they had found Yuri sleeping against the door that day, the blond had been acting even stranger than usual. Which was saying something; Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t easy to deal with on an average day, let alone days where he was tormented by hormones and weird waves of anger and internalised personal problems. And now the bruise? His hatred of people mentioning anything related to his home life?

All teaching staff had a duty of care. See anything concerning: report it to head office or the safeguarding team. Call home. Arrange a meeting with parents.

A huge red warning sign screamed at Viktor, telling him that doing any of those things would have horrible consequences.

Yuuri wanted to know how to make Yuri trust him? Viktor had much lower standards. He wanted to know how to make eye contact with him without feeling like he was walking on shards of glass.

“I don’t know, love. I really don’t know.”

* * *

 

It was the same every day. Every single fucking day, and he _hated_ himself for not being used to it. After so many years of shouting and beatings and disappointment, he thought he’d soon become numb to the slaps, thought he’d be able to roll his eyes at the droplets of crimson and purple bruises. Just another obstacle in his day.

But it didn’t work like that, apparently. Yuri found himself struggling to hold back tears more and more frequently, which came as a surprise to him; he never cried. Keep it bottled in, release it later with a razor blade. That was his way of living and it hadn’t fluctuated in 6 years.

These past few days, few weeks even, had been different. Instead of the overwhelming waves of anger and despair he was used to, that came out of nowhere and were often forced away by inflicting pain upon himself, Yuri had just felt... so empty. Vulnerable, like a pathetic abused puppy or a _child_. On Sunday night his mother had called him a fucking idiot and Yuri had cried until 2am afterwards. Any other time he would have shrugged, maybe throw a “yeah, whatever” at her if he was feeling brave enough. No way in hell would he have cried himself to sleep like a fucking pussy.

The only people who had ever seen him cry were his mother (unfortunately), and Otabek (who was often around to take the full force of a rare breakdown). Other times he would shut himself in the bathroom and press his palms to his eyes until his body stopped doing… whatever it was doing. Releasing internalised sadness in the form of tears, he supposed. Fucking stupid. Crying didn’t change anything and only gave him a headache.

Which was why Yuri was so pissed off with himself for showing such weakness over things that he usually rolled his eyes at and shoved into the dark pits of his memory. If being insulted made him sob into a pillow, what would happen when he next got hit? When he next cut too deep and had to wrestle with tissues and makeshift steri-strips until he deemed himself taken care of?

To Yuri, feeling numb was one of the worst feelings in the world. But he’d rather feel numb than like a shattered glass statue, haphazardly pieced back together and threatening to crumble at any slightest nudge.

The time was 9pm. He had skipped the last few days of school, not trusting the teachers to stay out of his business- especially not after Katsuki had questioned his black eye and undoubtedly passed the concern onto Viktor. Besides, school was bullshit, and it wasn’t as if he was going to pass regardless of his attendance. His mother always called him stupid, and his mother had always been correct. Mostly he showed his face for Otabek’s sake and to stop his attendance from falling into ‘call home immediately’ territory.

(Although he was starting to care less about that, too. Let his mother find out. Let his mother kick his ribs in and make him struggle to breathe for two weeks afterwards. At least he’d feel something.)

Skipping school for three days also meant not eating for three days, something that his stomach was complaining loudly about as he leaned against the wall in a shitty alleyway. Smoking, getting drunk and making himself bleed had been his main sources of entertainment, occupying him well into the early hours of the morning before he would dare to sneak home and steal a few hours’ sleep. He had bothered to shoplift vodka from a run-down convenience store on the street corner but had neglected food.

Whatever. It wasn’t as if he cared about his health.

He took another swig of the vile liquid, cringing at the way it made his tongue burn, loving the way it made his throat catch on fire and settle like hot coal in his stomach. ‘Tipsy’ had been and gone with the setting sun; Yuri was drunk, ridiculously so, and continued to drink even though his vision was blurring at the edges and every limb felt like it weighed 100 pounds.

“Fucked up on a Thursday night. You happy, ma?” Words were slurred and lazy and refused to co-operate with his brain. He raised the bottle, in a mock toast. Drank some more. Squeezed his eyes shut and hoped that maybe, _maybe,_ this would be the sip that made his pain go away.

Grandpa was getting worse. His breathing was laboured, more so than usual, and he was forgetting things. Forgetting Yuri’s name and age, forgetting how horrible his daughter was to him and his grandson. The doctor said that they had to give the medicine time to kick in and hope for the best. In the meantime, Yuri had to watch the only person who loved him deteriorate right before his eyes.

Mother was getting worse. Hitting more, shouting more, drinking more, spending more money they didn’t have. Bringing home weird men who’d fuck her on the living room sofa and disappear by morning. Yuri couldn’t bring himself to give a single shit.

Otabek was getting worse. He was such a good boy. Such a lovely, genuinely decent person. The cuts on his wrists were getting deeper and dark circles made their beds under his eyes so much more nowadays. Still he smiled, still he brought Yuri lunch- but those smiles were full of so much sadness that penetrated his dark skin and lay bone deep. Yuri wanted to help.

Yuri didn’t know how to help.

(And it would be hypocritical to even bother, wouldn’t it, really?)

Yuri was getting worse. Which was saying something, because he thought he hit rock bottom a _long_ time ago. Before, rock bottom felt like a flood of despair and anger, like a million needles were piercing his skin, like millions of voices were screaming for him to _just end it already, slit your wrists like you’ve fantasized about doing, throw yourself off a building, who cares. Just do it._

Rock bottom felt much different than he imagined it to feel.

“So numb.” He half-whispered, half-sobbed. “Please. Don’t want to be numb anymore.”

Another drink. Another satisfying burn.

“Burn my throat out. Never let me say a word again.”

Another cigarette lit and immediately extinguished on his wrist.

“Set me on fire, please.”

Somewhere far away, a stray dog howled.

“Hurt me. Jus’ wanna feel something. Jus’ want my skin to feel real.”

Hot tears dripped onto the bottle lip and added a taste of salt to his next swig.

“Hurt me. Please hurt me, ma. Hit me and break me and bruise my skin.” Yuri was crying now, curling in on himself and clutching the bottle to his chest, accidentally spilling some of the contents onto his shirt. “Please hit me, mama, I jus’ want you to hit me. All I’m good for anyway, yeah? Let me be useful. To someone, at least. Let my skin feel real.”

He wasn’t talking to anyone, not really. Just whispering out into the night and imagining that his mother cared enough to listen to her son’s despair. But no, no-one cared, and so he just sat. And drank. And cried a bit more.

All shop lights, street sounds, and signs of human life had disappeared by the time Yuri pushed himself to unsteady feet and began to put one foot in front of the other. An agonising headache was flourishing in his brain and almost sent him collapsing towards the pavement, but he managed to get a grip on the wall next to him and remained mostly upright. Some part of him knew that he should probably go home, or at the very least find a bench to sleep on that wasn’t anywhere near shady street corners, however Yuri wasn’t satisfied yet. He still felt numb, and empty, and like the alcohol had widened the hole inside of him instead of filled it.

If pain didn’t work, then he’d have to use the opposite methods.

He knew the route by heart, even drunk. Many a time had he walked these streets in the pitch black. Every turn, every streetlamp, every silhouette was familiar to him, and his clouded brain didn’t hinder the determination that glowed in green eyes. He knew where he was going. And it was ten times better than going home.

The neighbourhood wasn’t nice, but it was nicer than the one Yuri lived on. Here, there were druggies and homeless prostitutes, which wasn’t out of the norm, however windows remained intact and people could even own expensive belongings without the certainty of being robbed. It seemed like luxury compared to the shit hole he called home. And it was made even more of a luxury by one house in particular.

The gate creaked as he pushed it open. All lights in the house were off- no surprise there- so Yuri had to be very careful to not attract unwanted attention. That was okay, though, he knew what to do. In his drunken state he grinned to himself out of excitement and began to pick his way through the shrubbery that separated the front garden from the back, until finally, he was standing below the window he had been looking for.

And like something out of a dumb teen film, Yuri picked up a small rock and threw it at the glass. It landed with a quiet tap.

No reaction.

So he tried another. And another. Then several at once, all slightly bigger, and suddenly a light came on inside the room and there was a face at the window and-

And Yuri started crying, again, overwhelmed with emotion and a body full of vodka. Otabek backed away from the window and reappeared a few minutes later by the back door.

“Yura? God, Yura, what happened to you?” His arms had never felt so comforting as they did in that moment. Yuri collapsed against that strong chest, let himself inhale that familiar scent, let himself be held.

“I.. I w-want to… Oh, _fuck,_ Beka.”

“Shhh. It’s okay. Tell me what’s wrong.” Otabek ran his fingers through blond hair and whispered comforts, ignoring the stench of alcohol for the time being.

“’m so drunk.” Yuri simply said. The rumble of Otabek’s deep voice was helping him calm down, but not enough to allow him to form coherent thoughts. Guilt and shame were coursing through his body and were slowly manifesting into what felt suspiciously like nausea.

“I can tell. Yuri, you need to tell me what’s going on, okay? Is it your mother? What did she do?”

“Not her. Me.”

“You? What do you want to do, Yuri?” Otabek pulled away and took the blonds face between his hands, thumb stroking gently over the yellowing bruise around Yuri’s eye. It was such a simple, delicate gesture, and Yuri responded by crying harder.

“I want to kill myself so bad, Beka, so _bad._ I j-just want to feel something.” He messily wiped his eyes and looked up through wet lashes. “Pain didn’t work, and I’ve _missed_ you so much, and you’re so _warm,_ so I… I…”

Understanding and realisation flickered in Otabek’s brown eyes. And instead of anger, or disgust, or annoyance, the only emotion that Yuri found in them was sadness.

“No.”

“Beka, please-“

“No. Yuri, we’re not having sex when you’re like this.” The hands either side of his face didn’t move. Otabek leaned in closer and Yuri saw that he, too, was covered in bruises. “I’m not fucking your pain away.”

“I just want to feel _real_. I just need you to-“

 _“No,_ baby. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.” There was something so raw in those words and Yuri had to avert eye contact. “You need to rest, not be bent over something and fucked. You deserve much better than that, okay?”

Yuri didn’t believe that. Of course he didn’t.

“Where have you been these past three days?”

“Out. Drinkin’. Hurting myself. Crying.” He shrugged lazily. “Trying not to die.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Nah.” Another shrug. “Don’t need to. Already full of sadness. Don’t need food.”

Otabek sighed, but it was a sigh of sympathy and not frustration. He bent down, hooked an arm under Yuri’s legs- and suddenly Yuri was horizontal, and the world was spinning, and the sky had switched with the ground and everything was scary and-

“Shhh, Yura, it’s okay. I’m going to carry you to my room. You’re going to stay here tonight. We can skip school tomorrow, yeah?”

Yuri nodded. All fight drained out of him and he was a dead weight in the Kazakh’s arms.

His Grandpa wouldn’t last much longer. His mother could burn in hell for all he cared. Soon, Otabek would be all he had- and Yuri couldn’t bother him with his issues forever.

It’d be a miracle if he made it to age 18.

Now all he needed was for Nikiforov to fuck off and mind his own business so Yuri could die without anyone following his every move.

Though making him fuck off was much easier said than done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next few chapters will include a lot more viktor and yuuri vs yuri action. Will they get him to open up? Or will he isolate himself even further and do something he regrets? WAIT THREE MORE MONTHS TO FIND OUT!  
> (only kidding. but comments and feedback do produce chapters quicker... especially since i have a break from college soon... hint hint..)  
> love yall gdnight


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyyy sorry for the slow update (again) and thanks for the lovely comments everyone!!!  
> This chapter contains a tiny rape mention and abuse mentions.   
> I hope u enjoy (also the update for Haze might take a bit longer because I'm not too motivated on that one rn:// It's not abandoned tho dw)

Otabek wasn’t okay.

That was the first thing Yuri noticed when he regrettably regained consciousness the next morning (or was it afternoon already?) and the realisation hit him harder than he thought it would. Well, he was aware that his best friend was fucked up, like he was, like all of E2 were, but his feelings towards the subject were somewhat grey. A result of a childhood spent numbing his feelings. Or something like that.

The older teen was already awake, rummaging through the pockets of the jeans he discarded the night before, a frown on his face that was bordering on a snarl. Black denim fisted in his hand, he cursed softly before running a hand through his hair. Looking for something- something important, probably, and Yuri didn’t know whether to indicate that he had awoken.

But it wasn’t the scenario that raised concern. It was the way Otabek _looked._

Fuck, Yuri Plisetsky could recognise a black eye from three miles away. He had certainly received far too many to count. The display of bruises across his friend’s skin made a black eye look like a papercut. Reds, blues, purple smears of damaged flesh crawled from his temple down to his lip, almost zig-zagging across his face, as if someone had hit him with a baseball bat on an angle. Those perfect cheekbones looked lopsided. Yuri hoped that it was a trick of the dim light and not a fracture or even a break. And if he squinted, the blond could make out a consistent trembling of Otabek’s hands, a trembling that steadily progressed into an uncontrolled shake that could only be induced by pure, undiluted _fear_.

In the end, Yuri didn’t need to come up with a way to break the icy silence, as Otabek took the first step.

“Yuri. Yura, wake up, we need to go. Now.” A hand on Yuri’s shoulder shook him roughly, coming as a surprise from Otabek, who only ever touched him gently and softly (unless Yuri had specifically requested otherwise when they were fucking).

“Hmm- what? Beks, what’s happened? Y’alright?”

“He knows you’re here.”

“What?”

“He must have woken last night, my wallet and keys are gone, he knows you’re here, he knows we-“ Otabek swallowed and finally made eye contact with Yuri. Brown eyes had never looked so scared. “We need to leave.”

It took a few seconds. A few crucial seconds of Yuri raising an eyebrow in confusion, slight amusement, worry, annoyance at the hurried words that were making his hangover feel worse. Then his face dropped and his eye twitched in a silent question. Otabek nodded a response.

He understood.

“Okay. Okay, Beka. I’ll- I’ll get dressed. When will he-“

“Ten minutes. He gets back from work in ten minutes. Yuri, I’m gonna write a note and leave it under my mother’s pillow, can you get, uh… That backpack,” he pointed, “and just shove clothes and shit in it. Just… you know. You know what to do.”

Yuri nodded. He knew exactly what to do. He had run away from home countless times before.

Otabek nodded, lightly touched Yuri’s knee, and stepped out the room after snatching a chewed biro and a sheet of loose paper from his desk.

Thoughts from the night before were still clouding his mind, images of vodka bottles and smashed glass and the sound of rocks tinkering against the bedroom window. His head was screaming at him to go back to sleep, his body was demanding that he at least take a shower, for god’s sake, and his eyes still burned with the all-familiar aftermath of a breakdown.

Was it still Thursday? It must be, he was out drinking until the early hours of the morning. The school day had officially started long ago. Most of his classmates would be throwing condom wrappers at Nikiforov after Chris’ sex ed class by now. Nikiforov himself would be wondering where two of his students were and probably considering calling home, because he was a stupid fucking idiot with the common sense of a dying goldfish, and he would _certainly_ be passing the absence on to that therapist who stared too hard and bit his nails like a freak.

He imagined the scene. JJ laughing obnoxiously at the back. Emil blowing up condoms and throwing them at a pissed off Michele. Guang Hong either having a panic attack or making out with Leo behind the curtains. The weird one, Seung-gil, he’d be making fucking voodoo dolls or some shit.

For the first time in his life, the idea of being at school seemed better than his current situation. Yuri grimaced at the thought.

No time for pondering on maybes, he had something to do. After getting dressed Yuri emptied Otabek’s school rucksack and threw the wardrobe door open.

Otabek’s clothing choices consisted of black, black, leather, dark grey, the occasional scarf, heavy combat boots, black, and one of Yuri’s old sweaters that had been stolen months ago. The abundance of dark material made it rather difficult to tell each fabric apart so he just grabbed a handful and began shoving as much as he could into the tattered bag. After the wardrobe came the chest of drawers, and Yuri figured they could forget about pyjamas- they’d only take up space- however he made sure to pack extra socks and underwear. A phone charger was wrapped around Otabek’s pot of loose change, and, as an afterthought, Yuri grabbed a packet of paracetamol from under the bed and tucked it into the front pocket.

Yeah, he knew exactly how to make the perfect bench-sleeping survival kit.

“You good?” Otabek entered again suddenly, holding a few hygiene items in his hands, which he put into the pockets of his jacket before slipping his shoes on. Yuri nodded and followed suit. “Let’s go. Out the window; he won’t catch us if he leaves a bit early that way. I’ll go first so I can catch you.”

The Kazakh slung the back onto his back and began to lower himself out the window, a foolishly dangerous act in anyone else’s eyes, but when you have a fucked-up home life and an equally fucked-up brain, you get used to that kind of stuff.

Once Otabek gave the go ahead, Yuri prayed that his body would cooperate, and his hands left the window sill at the exact same moment the front door opened.

“Go. Go, go, go, he’s here, round front.”

Both boys threw themselves over the garden gate and ran for their lives.

Ruslan Altin had been dubbed the male equivalent to Yuri’s mother some time ago, when Otabek first described stories of his father’s awful temper and violent tendencies. Not only was he arrogant, manipulative, and, quite frankly, terrifying, he was also aggressively homophobic and repeatedly told Otabek that if he would murder him if his son ever took it up the ass. His words exactly. Except sometimes he didn’t say “murder”, he’d think up more creative threats, each worse than the one before and all making Otabek loathe the man he had to call dad.

So Otabek could only take Yuri home when his parents were out for the night, even though both ached for more time together. Not necessarily fucking; just lying in Otabek’s arms made Yuri’s suicidal urges subside for just a moment. But life liked to fuck them around, and both boys were lumped with shitty abusive parents and could only find comfort in a razor blade when they weren’t able to see each other.

Once, in a moment of alcohol-induced weakness, Yuri had asked about it.

_“What the fuck did we even do wrong, y’know? All our lives we’ve been… fucking… beaten and neglected and we’re just kids, dude. We’re kids.”_

He was 14 at the time, and he had only met Otabek a couple months ago after he had been moved to E2. His new friend was 16. Both were drunk and smoking in an alleyway after a particularly bad weekend.

Otabek had shook his head at the words.

_“We’re not kids anymore. We never were. We got stripped of that right a long, long time ago.”_

Then they had fucked in the alleyway, and Yuri forgot about the entire conversation, and most of the details that followed.

Typical that he only remembered it when they were legging it down the road like lunatics away from a man who most likely craved to hurt them.

They ran until they were both panting and clutching at the stitch in their sides (which, considering Yuri’s malnourished condition and Otabek’s bruised body, didn’t take long) and they stared around them with a lost expression across their faces. It wouldn’t be safe for Otabek to go home for a few days. Not until his father had calmed down and a convincing lie was established. However neither were fond of the idea of sleeping rough- the streets of the neighbourhood were dangerous; druggies and crazy men littered the roads at the darkest hours, prostitutes would grope you without consent and breathe alcohol-stained breath in your face. If you were lucky enough on your first night to receive a simple punch in the nose rather than a knife between ribs, that luck would soon run out.

Everyone knew everyone here. Especially when you were a fuck-up.

That left one other option. And the thought of that made Yuri’s gut clench almost at much.

“Beka”, the blond panted, bent over with his hands planted on his knees, “you… you can stay with me. At mine.” The idea was ludicrous- suicidal, even- but they didn’t have any other choice.

Otabek looked shocked. “Yuri, are… are you sure? Your mother-“

“-Can go fuck herself.” Yuri interrupted. “I ain’t having you homeless. You’re my best friend. We can sit through my mother’s bullshit together.”

They shared a look, bruises and a hangover illustrating their dismay, and Otabek nodded.

It was a terrible idea, but it was the only one they had.

* * *

 

Three days. 72 exact hours since Viktor last saw Yuri, and 24 since he last saw Otabek. It was no mystery that his students fucking hated school, and would skive every day if given the opportunity, but after the threat of calling home the absences had stopped. Or at least significantly declined.

So this was… Weird. The fact that he found the disappearance of two non-committed assholes weird made it even weirder, and Viktor couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling deep down.

He sat at his desk, chewing a pen, surveying the state of the classroom and thanking the Lord that 3pm seemed to come quickly today. With Chris’ highly inappropriate sex ed talk, a class discussion on geometry, and a spontaneous art lesson, the carpet of E2 looked worse than it ever had. Not that the standards were any higher than one inch off the ground to begin with, but the sight of new paint stains and shredded paper littering the floor didn’t help the ball of stress that was manifesting in Viktor’s muscles. Teaching these kids was slightly easier now than it had been when he had first started, but _Christ_ they knocked the wind out of him.

Emil’s breakdown was unexpected. Viktor hadn’t been paying attention, in all fairness, the rambling of Chris talking about dental dams and pointing at a whiteboard wasn’t as fascinating as it had been the first time.  So he was fiddling with an origami crane he had proudly made and thinking about whether Yuuri would be free at lunch. The sob sounded staged- borderline comical, even- but then another came, and another, and the sound of a repetitive _banging_ , and Viktor looked up.

Everyone seemed to shrink back against the walls of the classroom, as if shying away from the messy-haired boy in the middle. Emil had his hands pressed against his ears and was hitting his head against the wood of his desk. Chris looked horrified, hand frozen in a point that gestured towards the board, mouth agape. The inky black handwriting of “Date Rape Drugs” had faded out at the end, and Viktor assumed that was when Emil had begun to cry.

He didn’t think much of the scene, at first, a mistake he would regret when thinking about it a few hours later.

“Emil?” The question was one of confusion. Then Viktor mentally shook himself and tried again. “Hey, Emil, can you look at me?” He was crouching now and gently murmuring, making sure no-one could hear but the boy in question. They seemed to like that- when Viktor spoke quietly and gave them privacy.

He had dealt with a surprising number of breakdowns within the classroom walls. None yet as bad as the time Yuri blacked out and carved nail-shaped cuts into his arms, but still a significant amount. Guang Hong, Minami, Sara once, Leo looked close to tears on a couple of occasions. The others were supposedly either too emotionally strong or didn’t _have_ emotions (he was certain that Otabek and Seing-gil had theirs surgically removed as children), but their time would come. And now it was Emil’s.

“Look, I’m going to put my jacket under your head, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.” He moved his hands up to shrug it off, but the words of Leo stopped him.

“Uh, I wouldn’t do that, dude. The last person who touched ‘Mil when he was crying left with a broken nose.”

“He’s right,” JJ added, “why you think we all got out of our seats? He’s fucking crazy. Bottles everything up ‘til he emotionally explodes, or some shit, and lashes out at everyone.”

Viktor looked at them both with a frown. _Emil?_ Violent? Out of everyone, he seemed the happiest, along with a constantly-hyper Minami. Perhaps emotionally unstable, sure, though they all were. He couldn’t picture Emil hurting someone for a second.

They had to be lying. Viktor dismissed their words with a shake of his head and reached his hand out again.

“Don’t, you fucking moron. I know you think he’s a soft baby rabbit or whatever. He’s in this class for a reason, man. We all are. You seem to forget that.”

“You need to get it in your head, Nikiforov, we ain’t normal kids. _”_ It was Mila talking now. “You think Emil got chucked here ‘coz he’s irritating and hard to deal with sometimes? Nah. He used to be in B4, until he snapped at his teacher and threw a chair at her. Poor bitch was in hospital for a week.”

Viktor leant back on his feet, looking between all of his students. They all wore the same expression of a sombre annoyance. Not a hint of humour anywhere. Even Minami was frowning at the floor.

Shit, they really weren’t joking.

“But… why? Why did he do that? He’s been relatively fine in lessons.”

“Yeah. Ninety-nine percent of the time he’s chill, pretty fun to be around. Entertaining. A good guy. Then something sets him off and you have to wait for the wave to pass.” Leo gestured towards Michele- the person who Emil seemed to spend the most time with. Viktor turned to him.

“Michele?”

The Italian boy simply nodded.

So that was what prompted the spontaneous art lesson. Chris had taken them next door to E1 and watched over them as they had free reign of the poster paints, and gosh, Viktor had never witnessed teenagers acting like such children. He had left his jacket on Emil’s table and popped his head around the door every few minutes to check on him. After a while, the head banging had stopped, and Viktor was pleased to see that his jacket was being made use of. Maybe it was now tear-stained, but that was better than nothing. When Emil had mustered the strength to put an obviously-fake smile back on his face, the other students returned, and the day carried on as normal. As if nothing had happened.

They may have not thought it was a big deal, but Viktor did. He was completely exhausted from head to toe, yet his brain wouldn’t stop other-thinking everything. Why had Emil gotten so upset? Where had Yuri been for 3 days? Why did Otabek mysteriously disappear, too?

His life had become looking after these shitbags, a confusing realisation since they treated him like trash and didn’t thank him for anything, but he couldn’t help it and he couldn’t stop himself. All of their other teachers had left. Viktor wouldn’t follow in those coward’s footsteps.

Logically, he knew that there wasn’t anything to do but wait. Wait for them to talk to him or wait until he had enough evidence to take action. A teacher legally couldn’t interfere with students’ personal lives unless they were in perceived danger, and his kids were probably not about to off themselves regardless of how angry they were.

Still, those reassurances didn’t stop him from attacking the situation from every angle, looking for the _slightest_ clue.

A chime from his phone pulled him from his darkening thoughts, and a glance at the screen told him that Yuuri had to stay behind for a couple hours to catch up on paperwork. Leaving Viktor even more alone than he had felt before. E2 was a haunting room- not in the sense that ghosts screamed through walls or blinds moved without wind, it just held an air of… solemnity. When it was full of students, the space felt tiny and loud and often occupied extreme emotions. Emptiness stripped that illusion away and the contrast was chilling.

A flash of white on the floor caught his attention, and with a roll of his eyes Viktor pushed himself up to go and put the piece of crumpled paper hiding behind Otabek’s desk in the bin. Cleaners didn’t venture to the E block so Viktor had to take care of that job himself, too, but the alternative was to live in the mess that was made and the mere thought of that made him anxious.

When he picked it up, something inside him stopped him from putting it in the bin immediately. Instead, he leaned against the wall, and began to uncrumple it with curious fingers. A smirk was beginning to form on his face- most likely Emil had drawn something dumb, or Mila was passing notes to Sara about how much of an ass JJ was. That had become the norm in letters that were frequently confiscated. Viktor was beginning to create a stack of small tokens that had been confiscated from the students, and one day he would pin them to a cork board. Maybe when he was old and retired and could laugh back at the now-stressful times.

The scribbles inside were not a picture, or the familiar loop of Mila’s handwriting. In fact, they weren’t even in English.

Viktor was Russian bred and Russian born; he hid his accent fairly well and his English was good enough, and no-one had asked him if he could speak other languages, so why tell? Why tell them that he was fluent in Russian and French, when they wouldn’t care?

Now, he was grateful he had kept those facts to himself. Yuri and Otabek had no idea that he could understand the hastily-scrawled Russian characters and decipher their hidden meaning.

“Beka”, he read aloud, translating to English as his eyes scanned over the slip, “don’t text or call me. Mother is angry. Don’t know if I’m safe or not. Check on me if I’m not in school for a few days. -Yura”.

Yuri must have given this to Otabek the day before he disappeared, and it must have slipped out of Otabek’s pocket accidentally. These facts combined with Otabek skipping classes today sparked a fire of concern, fear, and curiosity in his stomach.

He made up his mind then. Pulling his jacket on and jotting down the address he quickly found from the computer systems, Viktor decided to say ‘fuck it’ to the rules and do what his heart was telling him to. He had a couple of hours until Yuuri finished for the day. He had time.

He was paying the Plisetsky household a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is gonna be full of angst you're welcome   
> pls leave nice comments if u want they make me happy and happiness is a rare emotion for me lmao


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooo sorry for the huge gap in updating. Here's a 6.5k word chapter to make up for it.
> 
> CW: mentions of sexual assault, self harm, alcoholism, abuse. Discussions of racism.

 The address wasn’t one he recognised. His quick, ever-messy handwriting spelled out “11a Coastwood Road” on the back of his hand, and every five minutes or so he would glance between that and the _Google Maps_ display on his phone to check that he was going in the right direction. The neighbourhoods of this town were like mazes; meeting at weird points, cutting you off where you least expect it, sending you in the entirely wrong direction and only realising it when you end back where you started. Viktor thanked luck that he didn’t live too far from the school. Otherwise _he_ would be the one turning up late every day, and it would be hypocritical for shouting at his students for doing the same exact thing.

He also quickly realised he was lucky for _where_ in the town he lived. Sure, their apartment wasn’t huge, and the walls needed a fresh coat of paint when he and Yuuri had moved in, but it was at least clean. The windows were in one piece. No crude graffiti covered their front door.

As Viktor drove further from town centre and into the suburban areas, subtle differences became more apparent and he found himself wanting to avoid the streets that were thrown into shadow by the high rise walls. Suspicious glances were aimed towards large groups that approached his car, fists clenched on his steering wheel, his neck was beginning to hurt with how excessive his hand-phone glance routine had become in desperation to find the right street. He wished he had thrown on his cheap jacket rather than his name-brand overcoat.

Finally, _finally,_ after three illegal U-turns and an exotic variety of curses aimed towards his phone, he caught sight of the street sign he was looking for and let out a relieved breath. Even the sign made him cringe with its peeling paint and the cans of beer that lay strewn around it. It was also mostly covered in weeds and brambles- no wonder he drove past it several times- and someone had demonstrated their artistic abilities by changing “Coastwood” into “Cockwood”.

Viktor sighed slightly. It was almost 4pm. As long as he was home by 6 at a push, Yuuri wouldn’t suspect anything. He could see Yuri’s house a short distance away, but for some reason he hesitated and felt like it would be better to just sit and… observe for a moment or two.

He leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the stretch of road, and waited.

* * *

 

Yuri felt empty. Not sad, not angry, not even aware of the blisters on his feet that had formed during his and Otabek’s walk to his mothers. Just empty. A hollowness was clawing at his insides and he wanted nothing more than a cigarette or another drink or Otabek to fuck him somewhere gross and dingy.

He glanced at his friend, noticing the distant look in his eyes, and not for the first time that day wished he had never bothered to ask for help.

_He wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for me._ The words kept repeating in his head, and no matter how much he tried to distract himself by digging his nails into his arms, they wouldn’t be silenced. Probably because they were true. If it wasn’t for Yuri and his useless breakdowns, Otabek’s father wouldn’t have caught them sleeping in the same bed, and Otabek wouldn’t be running for his life.

Maybe Otabek was angry at him? Maybe that was why he had been silent for almost ten minutes now? It would make sense- everyone was mad at Yuri at some point, just because he and Otabek were friends didn’t mean the Kazakh was immune to how annoying and pathetic he was.

Yuri dug his nails in harder and kicked the ground.

His mother would be waiting at home. She would be calm when they walked in- she always was- but the liquor bottle in her hand would be enough proof that she was far from relaxed and happy. She would smile and show off her disgusting teeth, stand up shakily, and either smash the bottle over his head (providing there wasn’t any precious liquid left inside) or hit him across the face with her hand. Always the right hand. It was covered in brass rings and hurt ten times more.

Then she would ask who the boy with him was, probably say something racist regarding Otabek’s appearance, and disappear down the pub for the rest of the night.

“Bitch.” Yuri muttered under his breath at the thought. The crescent indents in his arm had started to hurt.

“Hmm?” Otabek’s deep hum almost made Yuri flinch and he blinked up in anticipation. “What was that?”

“N-not you. My mother.” Why the fuck was he stuttering? Was he _nervous?_ Of _Otabek?_

The Kazakh simply nodded slightly in response and the simple action made Yuri’s heart sink into his stomach. He hung his head and fell a few paces behind.

Without any warning the emptiness had been replaced with something weird. Something almost foreign. Usually he didn’t care about what his mother did to him; he was used to other people hurting him almost as much as he was used to hurting himself. A cut to the temple healed as easily as hand-shaped bruises around wrists. Yet thinking about going home, thinking about Otabek probably feeling annoyed and shitty and it being entirely his fault, send goosepimples across his arms and shivers down his spine. At least it made him feel _something_ , he supposed, but it also made him feel _vulnerable_ and he fucking hated it.

Yuri Plisetsky was anything but weak. Weak people wouldn’t have survived 16 years of being beaten and neglected and hated by those who were supposed to protect. So why, all of a sudden, was he feeling an emotion he barely had any recollection of?

He was just about to return his nails into his flesh when he walked into something- or someone- solid and strong. His breathe caught in his throat and he looked up, expecting to see one of his mother’s old creepy boyfriends for some fucking reason, but was met with Otabek’s piercing stare. And god, did that man know how to stare. Yuri wanted to raise an eyebrow and straight right back but his friend’s firm brown eyes were too overwhelming.

“What is wrong?” Otabek voice was gentle, although that was obviously because he was exhausted and not because he actually cared.

“Nothing”. Came Yuri’s reply; his instinctive answer to the rarely-asked question.

Otabek pressed his lips together. “Bullshit.”

“Fuck you.” Yuri’s eyes widened. “Sorry.”

“Sorry? For what reason?”

“Swearing at you.”

Otabek frowned, eyes scanning over Yuri’s face. He seemed torn between hugging the blond, asking what he was on about, or just shrugging it off and continuing their walk to Yuri’s shitty neighbourhood. Eventually, once the silence was verging on becoming awkward, he settled on a simple statement. “You swear all the time.”

That, apparently, wasn’t the best thing to say.

Yuri gasped slightly. He took an unsteady step back, then another, looking as if he wanted to run away before he steadied himself and wrapped his arms across his torso in a protective stance. He desperately avoided Otabek’s eyes and looked around them as if surveying for danger.

Even as he was doing these things he was aware of how weird he was acting. Like a kicked puppy or a frightened child. He wanted to scoff at his behaviour, wanted to roll his eyes at the way his body was trembling, but his brain wouldn’t co-operate and he could barely move. He remained frozen in place, caught between fight or flight. A useless punching bag yet again.

He couldn’t even see Otabek anymore. Not because he had vanished, but because Yuri’s vision had glazed over and memories of past beatings were clouding his vision. The time he had to walk himself to the ER at five years old because one of his mother’s boyfriends had kicked his ribs in. The time he had collapsed from hunger and pain and a concussion and had missed three days of school. The many, many times he had forced himself to walk through his front door, knowing that a bottle around the head would be ready to greet him.

Sometimes the verbal abuse hurt more. Of course he already knew he was useless and deserved to die, of course his mother would have been better off had he fell onto a train track as a child, but it still stung whenever she slurred the same old insults at him. Those words were the reason why he had started to hurt himself. Punish himself.

Fuck, did he wish he had a blade now.

Perhaps Otabek was talking to him. Perhaps he had said _fuck it_ and left. Yuri was oblivious to everything around him; all his brain insisted on showing him was the images of bruises and cuts, all he could feel was the _fear_ that had forced itself into his unconscious. If he hadn’t mentally checked out he would be able to feel Otabek’s strong arms holding him upright, since his knees had given out somewhere around the memory of boyfriend number 4 threatening him with a cigarette lighter.

Centuries seemed to pass before Yuri became aware of slight disturbances around him, tiny things that his senses caught on to. A whisper into his ear. Breath against his cheek. A pressure around his waist, a pressure that he gratefully sunk into because even in his ruined state he could tell it was a lifeline. His chin was pressed against something cold and metal and he was vaguely aware of an empty feeling in his stomach. There was a sense of nostalgia about his state, and it was the realisation that he had also blacked out a few days prior in front of Nikiforov that finally lifted him from his half-conscious slump in Otabek’s arms.

“I’ve got you, it’s okay, I’ve got you.” Otabek was whispering into his ear, one hand stroking blond hair and the other wound tightly around Yuri’s waist. Yuri gradually pushed himself upwards as the strength returned to his legs and he blinked up with wet eyes, searching for any anger in his friend’s face, expecting to see fury and rage but instead only finding a confusing mixture of care and concern.

“Are you going to hit me?” The words were out before he could stop them; usually he would grimace at how frail and pathetic his voice sounded, but those concerns were far away. His heart was pounding far too loudly to hear them.

Otabek blinked a few times in surprise, then gently took Yuri by the shoulders and pushed him back slightly to get a closer look at his face. He looked over his features: chapped lips, undereye bags, tear tracks straining his flushed cheeks, the stray strands of hair that stuck to his forehead. And finally, his eyes, big and wet and full of pure, undiluted sadness.

“I… No, Yura. Why would I hit you?”

“Because I’m bad.” The Russian’s voice was scarcely above a whisper.

“Yura. Look at me.” Otabek placed his hands on the side of Yuri’s face, encouraging eye contact, and smiled when green irises met brown ones. “I would never hit you. No matter what. Okay?”

For a few seconds Yuri looked confused, then sceptical, and then finally accepting. He nodded slowly and forced himself to take a few deep breaths. “But, I… The whole reason we’re here is because of me. If I hadn’t come to you last night, or-“

“Hey, no, this isn’t on you. You came to me for help. It’s my father’s fault for being a prick. Right now we need to focus on getting to yours and up to your room without incident, and when your mother leaves I’ll make some tea. We’ll be okay. Aren’t we always?”

Yuri nodded. He couldn’t disagree on that. Despite how much most of them had been through, they were still surviving, still clinging onto the last remaining threads of hope that they got from each other.

“Yeah. Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Let’s go and face the bitch.”

* * *

 

Emil Nekola was high. Michele Crispino had initially refused to get high along with him, but after visually seeing the stress leave his friend like smoke from a fire, he had grabbed the blunt with a grimace and inhaled deeply.

A little too deeply. It burned his lungs and he spluttered like a moron. Emil had laughed and Michele was trying to not whack him across the head.

The second drag had burned a little less, and by the fifth his anger felt dulled and he found himself grinning along to Emil’s stupid jokes.

“Dude, we should totally, like, do this more often.” The messy-haired teen giggled and leaned back against the dirty brick wall. They were behind an old supermarket, surrounded by garbage and weeds and crumpled beer cans, and the scent of urine lingered in the air. Other than the occasional delivery van pulling in, they had remained undisturbed and peaceful.

“Just cause you’re high doesn’t mean you have to talk like a stoner.” Michele responded in his usual irritated manner, however the smirk across his mouth was clear evidence that he wasn’t _really_ annoyed. In all honesty, he hadn’t felt this relaxed in weeks. Months even. Before, he has regarded Emil as a “classmate only” kind of guy. Someone he wouldn’t consider hanging out with outside of school. But Emil had made up some excuse about not wanting to go home and Michele was temporarily stuck with him.

Which turned out to not be a horrible experience, really, minus the burn in his lungs and the slight headache forming in the back of his skull.

Plus… Emil was a huge gossip. As someone who kept himself to himself, Michele tended to miss out on the drama surrounding the other fuck-ups in their class, whereas Emil couldn’t keep his nose out of a good story even if you paid him.

“You heard about what happened to Leo the other day?” As if on cue, Emil raised an eyebrow in Michele’s direction, details already on the top of his tongue. Michele shook his head. “He freaked the fuck out in the lunch hall, dude. Y’know that scary teacher who patrols around the hall to make sure the little kids are eating their greens or whatever? Yeah, well he shouted at Leo, and he did not appreciate that one bit.”

“What happened?”

“Leo’s got that problem with zoning out, right? Like, his brain totally just” Emil made a vague gesture with his hands “stops working sometimes. That’s why he stares into space like a weirdo. Anyway, he started screaming after he got yelled at, and then completely blanked and refused to move. Sat there for hours. Eventually the nurse and the counsellor guy had to practically carry him out the hall.”

Michele raised an eyebrow and hummed. He didn’t really talk to Leo much. Or any of the other people in his class, unless he absolutely had to. Of course he kept a stern eye on his sister- Sara was his responsibility and she was under extra careful watch considering she had been acting out lately- but other than her and Emil he mostly minded his own business. Meaning he wasn’t too educated about the personal issues of his fellow classmates.

“Do you know what happened to Leo? Like, why he’s fucked up and in E2?”

Emil almost grinned, happy to show off the knowledge his nosiness had gained him. “He’s got, like, hardcore PTSD ‘coz he witnessed someone get murdered in Mexico when he was a kid. Been fucked up ever since and copes with shit by zoning out or hurting himself.” The brunette shrugged. Michele noticed that his tone was one of nonchalance, almost deadpan, as if he were reciting the school rules rather than talking about a teenager’s trauma and mental illnesses. “Teachers in regular classes couldn’t cope with him so he got put in E2. He ain’t too bad, though, just a bit damaged. There’s worse people.”

Beside him, Michele took a final drag of the blunt and then stubbed it out on the sidewalk. The sun was beginning to set and a chill had settled, however neither man looked like they were ready to leave.

Of course Emil had treated trauma like a casual conversation topic- why would they be shocked by it when leaning against a dirty dumpster in the cold seemed better than being at home?

“Yeah. There’s worse people.” Michele agreed and brought his legs up to rest his chin on his knees. “Who’s the worst, would you say? Yuri? JJ? Mila?”

Emil shook his head, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. “No. They’re violent and loud, sure, but predictable. Insult JJ’s ego and you know he’ll snap at you, Mila will start an argument if you look at her wrong, Plisetsky is the most fucked up 16-year-old I’ve ever met, but I doubt he’d do anything _drastic_ other than shout or toss a chair around the room or punch Leroy if he’s being a prick.” He ran his hands through his hair and began to worry his lip between his teeth.

“That’s true.”

“Now, Seung-gil on the other hand…”

Michele looked at his friend incredulously, eyebrow raised. “Lee? Seriously? He’s the worst one in the class?”

“Him and Otabek. They’re just… They freak me out, y’know? No-one knows why they’re in E2, or why they’re fucked up, or anything about them. It makes me uncomfortable. Not knowing.”

“I suppose it’s kinda creepy how quiet they are. Seung-gil’s been here almost six months and I still don’t know if he can speak English or not. Otabek constantly looks like he’s either going to burst into tears or start punching your face in. Or both simultaneously; that’d be interesting to watch.” Michele laughed, but it was dry, humourless. The light-headed sensation that the weed had caused wasn’t appreciated as much when they were talking about depressing things.

“I’m waiting for ‘gil to freak out and smash a window or something.” Emil stood up suddenly and brushed himself off. Goose pimples had spread over his arms and he decided to make the most of his remaining energy to drag himself home. Otherwise he and Michele would end up sleeping underneath a dumpster lid, because god knew they didn’t want to go back to their families.

Michele followed his actions and stood up, too. And then decided to push his luck a little. “Freak out? Kinda like you did earlier?” A cringe spread across his face as soon as he said it, but luckily Emil didn’t seem upset.

“Dude, that was so fucking mental. I’m so embarrassed it’s ridiculous. But, hey, can’t really blame me when Christophe was talking about sexual assault and I knew I had to go home to my dad later.”

Emil laughed then. It was full of its usual life and warmth, and the smile on his face seemed so genuine that Michele thought he had heard wrong. It was only after they had separated and he was sober again did the Italian re-imagine the scenario thoroughly, and came to the conclusion that either Emil was just really good at faking laughter, or his friend truly was mentally damaged beyond repair.

The latter wasn’t unlikely. After all, they belonged to E2.

* * *

 

Neither of them knew how they had managed to waste an entire afternoon, but the setting sun left no doubt that it was well into the latter part of the evening by the time Yuri’s street came into view. Everything was the same as it usually was; no recent robberies had resulted in car windows being smashed in or trash cans set alight, but Yuri’s skin crawled all the same. He found himself glancing down every alleyway, looking behind him every few steps, as if someone was hiding in the dead shrubbery that lined the inner sidewalk.

Paranoia was a bitch.

“You know phantom pain? Like, when amputees feel pain in body parts that aren’t there anymore?” Yuri asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow at Otabek.

“Um… yes?”

“I’m getting, like, phantom pain, but for abuse. The closer I get to my house, the more I swear I feel the ache of a black eye and fucked-up ribs. Maybe it’s a sign of what’s gonna come when we walk through that door.” For a second it looked as if he was going to try to laugh sarcastically, but he chose to sigh tiredly instead.

Otabek placed a hand on Yuri’s shoulder and said nothing. What could he say, really? That it was going to be okay? Even though his own heart was beating with the knowledge that he could also get hit when they faced Yuri’s mother?

He’d never met her before. He had an idea of what she was like from Yuri’s descriptions of her, and he had seen the bruises that Yuri often came into school with, but an idea in his head was always different from reality. Walking into his house, making eye contact with the woman who had caused his friend so much pain, was bound to bring an onslaught of emotions that Otabek had no idea how to deal with.

His own home life was shit, but by now he was used to the slurs his father would shout at him and the cold looks he got from his mother whenever they were in the same room together. Never had they shown him any love or affection or acknowledgement that he existed other than hitting him when he done something even resembling wrong, but Otabek had one thing that Yuri didn’t: money. Otabek could afford food and a jacket to cope through cold weather. If he cared about himself enough to, he could buy bandages and creams to treat his cuts; he didn’t need to steal like Yuri did.

They say that money can’t buy happiness, but if the highlight of Yuri’s day was eating lukewarm food that Otabek brought in for him, then money had a lot more emotional worth than people wanted to admit.

“In advance, I’m sorry for what my mom is going to say about… you.” Yuri mumbled regrettably. “She’s very… well…”

“Racist?”

“Yeah.”

“I hardly expect hospitality from your _mom_ , Yura, it’s okay. I’m used to stuff like that.”

Frowning slightly, Yuri stopped fixating on a suspicious looking alleyway and turned towards his friend. “Really? Who from?”

“Oh, y’know, old shopkeepers. Kids in school. Jean-Jacques once asked me why I wasn’t fluent in Mandarin and our at-the-time-teacher had to drag me out so I wouldn’t punch him.” A warm laugh left the Kazakh, who was entertained by the memory. It was a strange sound in Yuri’s neighbourhood. Yet not unwelcomed. “Things were alright in Kazakhstan. Everyone was small and Asian, most of us were Muslim, so I would be lucky to get a second glance. Here I’m different. They think I’m an easy target.”

“Easy? You? Beka, I’ve seen you angry once, and it was enough to know that I’d never want to get on your bad side.” Yuri returned a small smile. The two of them took a small path down to the back lanes of the houses; Yuri thought it might be safer to come through the back door because his mother wouldn’t expect it. Element of surprise or some shit.

“Yeah. Well.” Otabek quickly took Yuri’s hand in his and gave it a light squeeze. “It would take a lot for you to get on my bad side.”

They were nearing Yuri’s house. Otabek didn’t know this because he recognised the building, having never visited before, but the way Yuri’s breath hitched and how he kept clenching and unclenching his fists showed how anxious he was. And the anxiety was catching; Otabek’s own palms were becoming clammy. He didn’t have a good feeling about this.

Yuri could practically feel the atmosphere become icy as soon as the familiar outline of his house came into view. He hadn’t faced his mother for the past 4 days. Which also meant not checking on Grandpa. Fear was contending with overwhelming guilt and he was starting to think turning around and finding a bench the two of them could nap on would be the safer option.

Still, he ignored the voice in his head that screamed for him to run, and pressed onwards.

Pass their junkie neighbour. Pass the old post office that had fallen into disrepair long ago. Pass more empty beer cans, more graffiti-covered walls, flurries of glass that carpeted the pavement.

His house looked like all the others: sad, grey, dirty. The gate had rusted and would creak horribly if he opened it, so instead he threw a leg over the disgusting metal and heaved his aching body over ungraciously. Otabek followed suit and did the same.

Then they stood, frozen, in front of Yuri’s back door, and the Russian had to take a few deep breaths to stop himself from throwing up in knee-length grass beside the path. Logically he knew his mother couldn’t do much- Otabek would protect him whether Yuri wanted him to or not, but that didn’t stop the fear, or the dread, or the overwhelming feeling of being so fucking _vulnerable_.

There was no point in dragging it out for longer- best to just get it over with. Yuri took a deep breath and turned the door handle, wincing at the way it squeaked, and apprehensively stepped into the house. He didn’t check to see if Otabek was behind him. Part of him hoped he had bailed out last minute and was on his way home.

Most of the time he would be relieved to not be immediately shouted at as soon as he stepped through the door, however now the eerie silence unnerved him. His mother wasn’t in the living room, although new liquor bottles showed her presence nonetheless. A blanket was hastily thrown over the couch. Another weird man must have slept around recently. Grandpa’s medication was fortunately in its usual place on the shelf above the half-broken television, but that was nowhere near enough to comfort him and convince him that everything was okay.

“Beka?” Yuri dared to whisper, heart beating too loud to hear Otabek’s footsteps.

“Right here.” Otabek lightly squeezed Yuri’s shoulder to show that he was close, he wasn’t going anywhere, he wouldn’t leave Yuri to face her on his own.

_Maybe she’s gone out._ Yuri hoped and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that she was already down at the pub, getting pissed and trying to sell herself for money to buy more alcohol. That way, he and Otabek could disappear upstairs and as long as they made no noise his mother wouldn’t check his room.

He took a step towards the kitchen. Then another. And another.

When he was younger, he and grandpa used to bake brownies from cheap butter and eggs and cocoa powder in their tiny kitchen. Those memories were some of the few that made him smile. Back then, before grandpa got sick and his mother started drinking heavily, the walls were a sunny yellow colour and a few of his playschool crayon drawings were stuck to the fridge with ABC magnets. Their cupboards were never full, but they were getting by, and the air freshener was always filled with a lavender scent.

Now the walls had been stained to a disgusting beige and counters were scorched from cigarettes. The cupboards were rotting and falling apart. His mother had burned his drawings many years ago. The only scent that lingered now was that of alcohol and tobacco.

That scent was strong now and could be detected from outside. It made him sick to his stomach; a reminder of the pain he had suffered while curled up in the corner after a beating. Scars littered his fingers from smashed glass that he had to pick up from the filthy linoleum floor whenever she got angry and started throwing bottles.

Eyes squeezed shut, teeth biting into his lip, Yuri took a final step and walked into the kitchen.

In full view of his mother, who was sitting on the counter with a bottle in hand, and an unidentified man who looked disturbingly pleased to see him.

“He’s just as beautiful as you said he was.”

Yuri opened his eyes in fear and instinctively wrapped his arms around his head, expecting a blow, but none came. Otabek appeared at his side and discreetly rubbed circles into his lower back, but no act of comfort could silent Yuri’s screaming head or quell the fear that burned in his veins.

The man was tall, tanned, with creases in his forehead that made him look permanently angry. He wore a dirty-looking vest top paired with equally stained sweatpants. Beside him, his mother sat drinking and glaring at Yuri.

“Where did you go? You left your grandpa in such a state. I thought you weren’t coming _back_ , so I told him so, and the poor man nearly had a heart attack.” She tutted through her smirk. “Bad Yuri. Selfish Yuri.”

Yuri gasped, feeling his blood leave his face as an overwhelming dizziness came over him. Of course he had never meant to hurt grandpa- he just wanted to get away for a bit! He just wanted to drink himself to oblivion and make the thoughts stop!- but he had failed to consider the health of the only family member who meant anything to him. Maybe grandpa was going to get even worse now, and it would all be his fault.

The grin on her face suggested she was lying, that she only wanted to scare him and make him feel like shit, and Yuri could admit that she had definitely succeeded. Yuri hoped with everything he had that he was lying. Grandpa had to be okay. Grandpa was one of his only reasons to stay alive. If grandpa died because of him, Yuri would give up without hesitation.

“I _missed_ you, Yurachka.” The snake-like grin hadn’t faded and her eyes remained locked on his even as she took another swig of her drink.

Yuri felt anger from the tips of his ears to his toes; he wanted nothing more than to scream at her, to hurt her back as much as she had hurt him, yet he could barely manage to breathe. It was as if someone put a plug in his brain. The chemicals from all of his emotions were building and building until he could barely think.

“But never mind all that. You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” There was no way Otabek could understand her with how much she was slurring. She glanced at the strange man, winked, and put her bottle down to enjoy the commencing show.

“I think you’ll do nicely.” The man took a step forward, hand outstretched, ready to grab Yuri. The blond shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, knowing he was about to get hit, or dragged, or worse, knowing there was no way his foggy mind was able to protect himself, knowing there was no way to stop this-

“Get the fuck away from him.”

Yuri’s eyes flew open in surprise.

Otabek had positioned himself between him and the man, arms crossed across his chest, looking so much taller than his 5”5’ stature. His voice was deep and serious- and Yuri barely recognised it. Otabek was usually gentle and quiet. This tone belonged to a completely different person.

Then he realised why- Otabek was _angry._ And anger around his mother was a dangerous emotion.

“What the fuck are you supposed to be?” Yuri’s mother laughed cruelly and followed her bitter question with a string of racial slurs that made Yuri flinch but seemed to float over Otabek’s head. “Move or we’ll fuck you up to.” She pushed herself from the counter, stumbling in her intoxicated state, and grabbed an empty bottle by the neck.

Otabek stayed exactly where he was.

 “You got a body guard, Yuri? Is that where you disappeared to? Pimping yourself out to find someone who pretends to love you?”

Her words stung, but the adrenaline dulled them slightly and gave Yuri the determination to keep standing. His head was too messy to fight or stick up for himself, but if he could stay on two feet and try to make sense of what was happening, maybe he could figure a way out of this. Without getting Otabek hurt.

Then the man took another step forward and all of Yuri’s logical thinking evaporated as Otabek’s fist flew out and connected with bone.

“Fucking _cunt_.”

“I said: get the fuck away from him.”

Yuri blacked out somewhere around the third or fourth punch.

He vaguely recognised the sounds of shouting, screaming, glass breaking and various insults, but everything was covered in a veil of grey. He had no idea if he had _actually_ been kicked in the ribs or if the phantom pain was back. A ghost of pain to match the feeling of death that had settled in his heart. His last thought before fear and exhaustion dragged him deeper was of Otabek.

* * *

 

Otabek hadn’t hit someone for a long, long time. He didn’t enjoy causing pain to other people, and conflict made him anxious, so he tried to avoid such situations as much as he could.

But some people deserved to be hit. Especially when they were threatening his friend.

His left eye was flooded with blood and he was becoming dizzy from the punches that he was receiving, but still he kept giving, still he stayed upright and let his fists show how angry he was. Years of pent up rage accumulated from years of submitting and accepting and receiving could finally, _finally_ be set free and taken out on the face of this fucker who wanted to _hurt his best friend._

It was clear what he had wanted. Otabek would rather die than let that happen. Only he could touch Yuri in that way.

The only regret he had was that he was so preoccupied with this man that he had failed to see Yuri’s mother slide around them and begin kicking and hitting the unconscious boy on the floor. It was then that Otabek’s brain dramatically shifted from _fight_ to _flee_ and he roughly pushed the woman back, picked Yuri up bridal style, and kicked the back door open.

Out onto the streets. Blood covering him, dripping onto Yuri, bones aching and head throbbing. His attack had gained them a couple of minutes, max, and Otabek didn’t know how far he could run in his state.

He gasped in cold air and hoped for a miracle.

* * *

 

By the time 5pm rolled around, Viktor was debating either giving up and going home or just politely knocking on the front door of Yuri’s house. He had never been a patient man- perhaps that was due to being slightly spoiled as a kid- and sitting alone in a car was hardly fun. He tried to mark a couple pieces of work that his students had completed that day, but thanks to two absences and Emil’s breakdown they hadn’t been very productive.

Exams would be coming around next year. Some had made slight improvements, such as Otabek with his literature or Minami with math, but otherwise their progress had been a flat line. Perhaps focusing on their morality and politeness principles would come back to kick Viktor’s ass.

Although, he knew that he personally would much rather have a kind kid than a clever one, so maybe it wasn’t entirely a waste.

Yuuri would definitely be home now and wondering where he was. The thought of dinner cooking in the oven made Viktor’s stomach rumble and he looked at his phone screen again to check the time. 5:46.

Why had he thought waiting outside would be a good idea?

Perhaps because he was somewhat nervous of talking to Yuri’s parents.

Viktor had mentioned parents evening a total of once in his time teaching E2, and after being met with a chorus of nasty laughing and insults, he had accepted that he wasn’t going to be meeting their mothers and fathers any time soon. Not that he was desperate to; meeting the people who had raised these kids didn’t seem like his idea of a fun time.

What did seem like a fun time was going home, enjoying his dinner and making love to Yuuri before falling asleep before midnight for the first time in weeks.

He sighed and bucked up his seatbelt. Turned the keys in the ignition and looked around him to make sure the road was clear-

Movement! From Yuri’s house! Viktor squinted, but the shapes were hard to make out against the darkening sky. It seemed like someone was carrying something- and stumbling? Limping? He pulled out slightly to get a closer look, stopping illegally in front of a turning, but too weirded out to care.

Not close enough. He creeped forward in a manner that suggested he wanted to remain undetected for now. His car wasn’t a luxury brand but it seemed expensive in this neighbourhood and he didn’t want to become the centre of attention.

Closer still. The figure came into full view as it stepped under a streetlamp.

“Oh my…” Viktor gaped, frozen in place, not believing what he was seeing. Otabek was covered in a red substance that looked sickeningly like blood and was holding a limp Yuri in his arms. The teen hesitated, looking in every direction, as if he was trying to find a place to hide, and Viktor willed his brain to just _work_ so he could _do_ something

Another movement, another figure coming from Yuri’s house. A man, tall, also limping slightly and carrying something that caught the light of the streetlamps.

Otabek was evidently scared of this person. Viktor frowned, trying to make sense of the situation, but every train of thought crashed when he noticed the object that the man held was nothing other than a knife.

He didn’t need to think about what he was doing; Viktor opened his car door and shouted as loud as he could.

“Otabek!”

The Kazakh couldn’t have possibly recognised him just by his voice, but decided that trusting an apparent stranger was safer than being around this man, and he came running as fast as he could with his injured ankle. As he got closer Viktor could see just how hurt the two of them were.

“Who- Nikiforov?” Otabek gasped as he slid next to his teacher, looking confused and in pain. He still held Yuri awkwardly and Viktor had to help support the Russian as Otabek closed the door.

Otabek really should have got in the back with Yuri, but the law was the last thing on Viktor’s mind as he pulled out and narrowly missed hitting the knife-wielding man.

“Hospital?” Viktor asked, looking at the teenager next to him to see if there were any life-threatening wounds.

“No. Please, just… I don’t know. No hospital.” Otabek wheezed.

“Okay, it’s okay. I’ll look after you both. I’m taking you back to mine.”

He had no idea what had happened. His own heart was pounding painfully fast in his chest. But he could deal with the gritty details later.

For now, he had two hurt kids to look after- one of which was unconscious- and, when he returned home, a very confused boyfriend.

Viktor was scared, and concerned, and confused, and also upset that it had taken his car seats getting stained with blood for him to truly realise the kind of shit these kids had to deal with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please review if you can spare a second! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter- I'm really looking forward to writing the next one:) expect some Viktor taking care of the boys' injuries and forcing them to talk about their home lives. Plus character development. Loooots of character development.


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest in peace Denis Ten. You will never be forgotten, and my heart goes out to his friends, family, fans, and those in Kazakhstan right now.
> 
>  
> 
> (CW: explicit mentions of self harm, abuse, depression, anxiety)  
> ((Disclaimer: I removed any mentions of the knife that Yuri's mother's boyfriend held in this chapter as I thought it would be insensitive given the situation. Lmk if I've missed any.))

“How is he?” Viktor was swerving through traffic like a madman, driving straight through various red lights and cutting people off at every turning. If the police started following him at any point, he wouldn’t be surprised, however the law was the last thing on his mind as he kept shooting glances towards an unconscious Yuri.

“Still breathing.” Otabek replied quietly. Either because he didn’t want to wake Yuri or because he was still feeling the after-effects of fear. “He only fainted, wasn’t knocked out or anything.”

Nodding, Viktor took a sharp left and entered the street he lived on. Fainting was better than taking a bash to the head- at least there wouldn’t be any concussion. “And you? Where are you hurt other than your face?”

Otabek shrugged with one shoulder and turned his head slightly to look away from the silver-haired man beside him. He was embarrassed, Viktor realised with slight upset; being in their teacher’s car covered in blood wasn’t good for dignity. Plus the fact that neither of them had asked for adult help for anything in their entire lives. Someone showing care towards him might have been a rare occurrence for the young man, something that he longed to accept and be grateful for if it wasn’t for his pride or discomfort.

“I’ll check you over when we get in.” Viktor added softly, pulling into the apartment block driveway and noting with apprehension that the lights were on in his and Yuuri’s floor.

He stepped out, circled the car, and quickly opened the passenger door to allow Otabek to get out with Yuri still in his arms. Viktor almost offered to carry the blond but stopped himself before the words left his lips; Otabek didn’t look like he ever wanted to let Yuri go. So Viktor said nothing and led the way to his apartment.

“Otabek, are you _sure_ you don’t need to go to hospital? That cut above your eye looks like it needs stitches.” The older man asked as the two of them stepped inside of the lift.

“No.”

“But-“

“I said no.”

Viktor sighed. “I know you’re probably not used to people helping you,” his tone was gentle and as unpatronizing as he could make it, “but it’s okay to need help. You can’t just slap a band-aid on that and hope it heals.”

The Kazakh was always the quiet one of the pair; while Yuri would shout and start arguments with anyone who looked at him wrong, Otabek preferred to stay in the background. He had never raised his voice, never lost his temper. Which is why Viktor was shocked when he suddenly turned to him, looked directly into his eyes with his pain-filled brown ones, and spoke with a firm tone that held a hint of anger.

_“No.”_

Being covered in blood made the scene rather horrifying, if Viktor was being honest. Otabek may be short, but if he could carry Yuri in his arms like the boy weighed next to nothing, Viktor had no doubt that he could physically force his way out of going to hospital if he felt he needed to. He let out a small sigh and didn’t push him any further.

Hesitation settled in once Viktor saw his apartment door; knowing Yuuri was inside, probably calmly watching television or doing paperwork made him feel guilty. He’d had a long day and wasn’t expecting his boyfriend to come home hours late followed by two blood-covered teenagers. Especially when the teenagers in question were already widespread causes for concern throughout the school.

Plus there was the issue of him dating Yuuri in the first place- if the faded hickies on Otabek’s neck were anything to go by, being gay wouldn’t be a problem, however the school would frown upon him dating the counsellor of the students he taught. For a brief second, the illogical part of Viktor’s brain was wondering if he could sneak in without Yuuri noticing. But then Otabek winced from behind him and he swallowed his anxieties and punched in the code for the door.

“There’s some boxes in front of the door, be careful.” The Russian said absent-mindedly as he stepped into the building and was immediately hit with the scent of something cooking.

“You’re home late, love.” Yuuri’s cheery voice came floating in from the kitchen. Soft Japanese music was playing on their beaten-up stereo, creating a calm and warm atmosphere that seemed so out of place given the situation. No doubt Yuuri had replaced his contact lenses with his thick-rimmed glasses and had slipped on his dressing gown after having a shower. The thought usually made Viktor feel fond, peaceful almost, but now it only intensified his feelings of guilt.

“Yeah.” Was all he said in response.

Breaking the reality to Yuuri could wait: first he had to sort out the injured boys behind him.

“Otabek, can you lay him down on the couch?” Viktor was already knocking stray pieces of paper and the remote control onto the floor, rearranging the pillows so the blond could be settled comfortably. Otabek nodded once, didn’t seem to care when his hip caught hard on the corner of the coffee table as he made his way over, and leaned down to carefully deposit Yuri. The couch was a squishy brown thing, clean and plush even after years of use. Otabek brushed stray strands away from Yuri’s face and tilted his head back slightly so his airways were open.

“He’s been out for quite a while.” Viktor commented with a frown. He didn’t know much about fainting, however he was confident that being unconscious for longer than a minute or two was a cause for concern.

“He’s just asleep. He woke up briefly in the car.” Otabek was still looking down at the younger boy with sad eyes, all attention on him despite the blood that covered his own face. “He’s exhausted.”

A fleecy blanket hung over the back of the couch, and Viktor pulled it down until it was covering the blond. If he was simply sleeping, it would be several hours until he awoke again.

“Hey.” Viktor met Otabek’s eyes. “Let’s get you sorted out.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Otabek. Please let me look after you.” When no reply came, Viktor decided to be brave. “I know this might be… hard for you. Having someone to look after you, clean you up and make you feel comfortable. But you’re hurt and I think you know as much as I do that you can’t just shrug this off.”

“Why not?”

Viktor frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been beaten before. Lots of times, we all have. Nobody’s ever taken care of me. What makes this different?”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that ‘all’ referred to most of the students in E2. Viktor pressed his lips together and ran a hand through his hair for the countless time that evening, stopping to think a little so he could choose his next words carefully.

“Did you have anyone to take care of you before?”

This time it was Otabek who frowned. “I… no?”

“There wasn’t anyone around who was willing to take care of you when you were hurt?”

A shrug. “Not used to people being nice to me.”

“Okay then, that’s why this situation is different. I want to look after you. Not just as your teacher, but as a regular person who has empathy and compassion and understands that you don’t deserve to be abused. Okay? I want to take care of you, Otabek.”

Otabek looked away, evidently uncomfortable with the conversation. Every cell in his body was telling him to put on that stubborn armour that he had solidified over the years and outright refuse any offer of help.

But then he looked at Yuri, and the soft blanket, and thought of an ice pack and a cup of tea. He thought about the times when he was younger and would stare at other children’s mothers in the playground after school, longing for a gentle pair of hands to clean up his scrapes and bruises. The surge of weird happiness he got whenever Yuri noticed his cuts and scolded him for not looking after them properly. He thought about how much he secretly craved care and attention.

So he nodded. Just a tiny jerk of his head, almost unnoticeable, but Viktor was staring at him intensely and didn’t miss it.

“Thank you.”

Viktor tentatively inched his way towards the injured boy, slightly unsure of where to start. Despite the black jacket and long-sleeve Otabek was wearing, blood stains were still evident, and Viktor didn’t know if it had come from the cut by his eyebrow or hidden injuries. He didn’t want to intrude Otabek’s personal space or do anything that could scare him.

Judging by the way he flinched when Viktor lifted his hand, not scaring him was turning out to be an impossible task.

Worrying his lip between his teeth, the silver haired man wondered if he should bite the bullet and go and tell Yuuri the news, or if he should stupidly _somehow_ keep it hidden from him. The kitchen tap was running, indicating that Yuuri was washing dishes. Could he sneak in there and grab some paper towel without him noticing…?

But then Otabek’s eyes grew wide with fear when Viktor reached out to touch the Kazakh’s face, and that tiny, vulnerable noise was all Viktor needed to realise that he was being a fucking idiot. Yuuri was a trained counsellor. He had worked with child abuse cases, domestic violence victims, had volunteered with traumatised refugees before he was even out of college. Viktor could try to convince himself that he could deal with this alone, protect himself from feeling guilty or whatever, but he would be lying to himself.

Two hurt kids were in his living room and they needed taking care of.

So he sucked in a breath, silently apologised for the worry and stress that this would undoubtedly cause his boyfriend, and called out as soon as the water stopped running.

“Love?”

“Mmm?”

“Can you come here please?”

* * *

 

He stared. Open-mouthed, clutching a spatula, wearing nothing but a dressing gown and pair of yellow rubber washing gloves. The scene may have looked rather comedic, he supposed, if it wasn’t for the sight before him and the reason why he was staring.

Yuuri looked at Viktor, then at Otabek, then back to Viktor, and finally a small blond figure lying unconscious on their couch that looked worryingly like Yuri Plisetsky. His eyes lingered on the sickly red liquid that ran down Otabek’s face and some tiny part of the back of his mind worried about getting blood on the carpet.

“V-Viktor! What on _earth-“_

“Yes, yes, I know, I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.” Viktor was out of his seat and walking towards Yuuri with that mildly-ashamed puppy dog look in his eyes. “They’re hurt. Both of them, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Wait. Come into the kitchen, talk to me there.” Yuuri didn’t want Otabek (and Yuri?) overhearing their conversation, so he ushered Viktor around the corner into a kitchen that smelled like baking and lemon scented cleaning spray. “Okay. What happened?”

Viktor didn’t hesitate to begin recounting events. He explained how he had found a concerning note from Yuri addressed to Otabek in class and had linked that to their recent absences from school. How he had drove to Yuri’s house and waited outside, too embarrassed or afraid to just knock on his front door, and had then seen Otabek stumbling out with Yuri in his arms.

“Some man was following them, I think he's the one who hurt them, I called out and Otabek carried Yuri into my car and I drove them here. Yuri’s just asleep now, apparently, but Otabek’s hurt and I don’t think he’s going to let me touch him and I don’t know what to _do_ and I-“

“Hey, hey, relax. It’s going to be okay, we’ll look after them. Come here.” Yuuri wrapped his arms around a now-sobbing Viktor, mumbling comforts into his ear and promising that he wasn’t mad, that he did the right thing, that both Otabek and Yuri were going to be fine. After a moment or two Viktor sniffed loudly and pulled away, rubbing his eyes.

“Look at me. Crying all over you when there is a bleeding teenager in our living room.” He forced a smile. “Right, let’s go sort this out. But to be honest with you, babe, I’m out of my depth here. I don’t think he’ll let me near him.”

Yuuri nodded, frowning. He pulled his robe tighter around him and thought of the best way to approach Otabek. He knew the Kazakh was reserved, perhaps cautious of adult figures. He didn’t seem the violent type, but he had to have been in E2 for a reason. Yuuri couldn’t afford to make judgements about his temperament.

He quickly gathered some wipes, tissues, nodded towards the first aid box for Viktor to retrieve, and forced himself to visibly calm down before entering the living room again.

“Hi, Otabek.” He smiled, setting the supplies down on the coffee table and gesturing towards the space next to the boy. “Can I sit here?”

Otabek shrugged. Yuuri took that as a yes and gently lowered himself next to him. Viktor took his place opposite them and begun pulling wipes and bandages out of the first aid kit.

“Okay then. I think we should wipe that blood away so I can get a better look at your cut. Would you like me to do it, or would you rather do it yourself?” Yuuri pulled some wipes out of the packet, ready to hand them over to Otabek if he needed to.

“I can do it.” The boy’s voice was quiet and he sounded tired. Yuuri handed them over and watched as the blood was wiped away, revealing a cut that was perhaps an inch in length and sat just below his eyebrow.

Definitely from being punched, unless he had tripped and smashed his face against something, however that seemed unlikely given the situation that Viktor had described. Yuuri frowned and observed that though stitches weren’t needed, he’d have to make some steri-strips out of band-aids to ensure it closed properly and to minimise scarring.

He got to work opening packets and cutting the adhesive to size as Otabek cleaned any remaining blood on his face. His shirt was a lost cause so there was no point even attempting to get the stains out, and when the Kazakh awkwardly set the used tissues down on the table, Yuuri leaned over.

“I’m going to close that up for you, okay? That means touching your face. Is that alright?”

Otabek nodded, knowing that he didn’t really have another option. He reluctantly let Yuuri place the strips over his injury, only flinching a few times and forcing himself to not jerk away from the physical contact. When it was done he let out a shaky breath and rubbed his eyes with his clenched fists.

Viktor had left to dispose of the tissues. Upon returning he leaned across the table, elbows resting on the wood, looking Otabek up and down. “Where else are you hurt?” He asked gently, copying the gentle tone that Yuuri had adopted. He noticed that Otabek was sitting strangely, with his arms wrapped around his torso, in a guarded way. “Your stomach, or ribs? Your back?”

With a sigh, Otabek shrugged his jacket off his shoulders. He winced as the fabric scraped against his arms, causing Viktor and Yuuri to exchange a concerned look. The long-sleeve he wore underneath his jacket made it awkward to properly gauge what was going on.

“Vitya, there’s an ice pack in the freezer.” Yuuri gestured towards the kitchen, knowing a cold compress would be appreciated. “Could you put the kettle on too, please?”

“Of course. Do you like tea, Otabek? Or coffee or hot cocoa or anything else?”

Otabek’s features brightened for a second and he temporarily forgot about his embarrassment. “Uh… C-could I have some, uh… tea? I-if that’s okay?” His body was still buzzing with adrenaline and anxiety and he found it hard to talk properly. Viktor smiled and nodded before stepping out of the room, leaving just Yuuri to stare at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

The Japanese man had a vague idea what was going on. Obviously there had been a violent encounter in which Otabek had tried to protect Yuri, ended up being hurt in the process, and ultimately fled with the unconscious blond in his arms. Yuuri had looked at both of their track records under the school system and noted their tendency to skip class or disappear for a few days at a time, and now he had more details he could confidently conclude that there must have been some sort of physical abuse or neglect going on at home. It was evident that the two boys were very close, and therefore very protective over one another.

Yuuri smiled gently at the Kazakh and gestured towards his arms. He was grateful that Viktor wasn’t in the room; some topics were better approached without him listening.

“Do you mind if I ask some questions?”

No answer.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t think you can. Just nodding or shaking your head will be fine. Is that okay?”

Otabek frowned, unsure of himself. Then he nodded slowly.

“Thank you. Okay, well, I just want to make it clear that I don’t need details of what happened right now. My main priority is your health. Are you bleeding anywhere else that you know of?”

A slow, apprehensive shake of his head released the pressure inside Yuuri just a little.

“That’s good. You seemed in pain when you took your jacket off, though. Are your arms hurt?” Otabek nodded. “Yes, I thought so. Did the person grab you? Or do you have self-inflicted wounds?”

Yuuri felt guilty for how uncomfortable he was making the boy, but he brushed his guilt away with the reassurance that it was for the best if they were to help him. Help both of them; Yuri would eventually wake up and was not going to be happy about lying on his teacher and counsellor’s couch. The more Yuuri could find out now, the better.

The Kazakh pressed his lips together and nodded slowly, desperately avoiding eye contact. The tinkle of mugs being moved around in the kitchen made the atmosphere feel slightly less stressful, and for that he was grateful. “H-he grabbed me, but most of them are from me.” He mumbled, playing with the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Would you feel comfortable rolling your sleeves up so I can have a look?”

In all honesty Yuuri expected Otabek to adamantly refuse, so he was pleasantly surprised when he slowly begun to roll his sleeves up to his elbows. A couple of light cuts and scars could be spotted here and there on the top of his arms, and for a moment Yuuri felt like he could release the breath he was holding because the damage wasn’t too bad. But then Otabek turned his arms so his wrists were facing outwards and the older man had to supress a gasp.

Infected. That was the first thing Yuuri thought as he stared at the cross-cross of cuts that started at his lower wrists and ended mid-forearm. The skin around them was red and inflamed, the cuts themselves were covered in dark scabs that leaked pus here and there, many of them had required stitches but the lack of medical care had left them puckered and swollen. Whether he was trying to or not, Otabek was incredibly lucky to have missed cutting into veins given the location.

“Fuck.”

A voice forced Yuuri’s eyes away from the lacerations. He turned to see Viktor standing before them, mugs in his hands, staring with an expression of what could only be called horror.

Yuuri saw Otabek’s hands clench out of the corner of his eye and knew that he must have been mortified at the sudden attention that he was receiving. “Viktor, do you reckon you could sort the spare bedroom out so they have somewhere to sleep tonight that isn’t the couch?” The Japanese man asked, widening his eyes suggestively at Viktor in a way that could only mean _please leave the room right now and let me deal with this._

Viktor, unfortunately, was never the best with implicit meanings.

“Otabek… How did I never realise this in class?” After setting the tea on the table, he stared at the cuts and even seemed tempted to reach out and touch them. “You must have been in so much _pain._ Y-you should have said something, I could have taken you to first aid. I mean sure, I might have been surprised, but I’ve seen the scars on Yuri’s arms and some of the other student’s so I wouldn’t judge you or anything and-“

 _“Viktor.”_ Yuuri interrupted sternly. Raising an eyebrow, he gestured to the hallway, now desperate for him to leave as Otabek was pretty close to a panic attack. “Make the bed? Please?”

“O-Oh, well, yes. Yes I’ll do that. Let me know if you need any help though, dear, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Yuuri lied. His smile disappeared as soon as his boyfriend was out of sight. “Sorry about that, Otabek. Are you okay?”

The Kazakh nodded solemnly, a badly disguised lie which Yuuri didn’t point out.

“He means the best, really. He’s just desperate to be helpful. Most days he comes back from work and asks me what he can do to encourage you guys to open up to him, or what he can do to help, or be a better teacher. I think he’s a bit… loud, shall we say? Insensitive sometimes? He doesn’t mean anything by it, but I have to remind him that sometimes it’s best to take a step back and offer gentle support rather than try to fix everything.”

Yuuri smeared antiseptic cream over the cuts after pulling on latex gloves. Proper medical attention and possibly antibiotics would have been ideal, however after hearing Viktor’s explanation of previous events he was certain Otabek would be heavily against that idea. Settling on cleaning, bandaging, and keeping a careful eye on them accompanied with ibuprofen for the pain was the next best option.

“Have you ever talked to anyone about your self-harm?” He asked gently while wrapping gauze around the deeper wounds. “Or any of your mental health problems?”

Otabek bit his lip. “I… Tried to. Once. My mother saw my cuts and asked me what they were.” Yuuri nodded to show he was listening and wanted Otabek to keep talking. “I told her that I did them to myself when I was sad. And she just…” He closed his eyes as if mentally steadying himself. Viktor had mentioned once that Otabek was quiet, perhaps too quiet, and how talking seemed almost painful for him. Sitting next to him now, Yuuri could see the tell-tale signs of severe social anxiety; from the sweat beading at his hairline to the subtle tremble in his hands. He didn’t think he had made eye contact with him for the entire evening.

“What did she do?” Yuuri urged, securing the ends of the gauze. With his hands finally free, Otabek reached out to grasp his mug, drinking half of his tea in one gulp.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “She told me that it didn’t matter because they weren’t deep enough. I told her to fuck off and she hit me with her belt.” He shrugged his shoulders, brushing it off as if it was nothing, but Yuuri heard the pain that laced his words. Saw the frown that disappeared as quickly as it crossed his face.

“So you started cutting deeper?”

“Yeah. Not just because of her, she barely means anything to me.”

“Because your depression got worse as you got older?” Yuuri smiled sadly, sipping delicately at his tea. He wanted to hug this boy but Otabek’s personal boundaries had already been destroyed this evening- touching him more than necessary would only make him freak out. Plus, it was unprofessional given Yuuri’s school counsellor status, right? Or did those rules not apply outside of work hours? He supposed that giving a hug was rather redundant compared to housing them for the night.

Otabek nodded. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. A look of uncertainty graced his features.

“What is it?” Yuuri asked, tilting his head curiously.

“You and Viktor. Are you… Married?”

Ah. Well, that question was coming sooner or later, he supposed. Yuuri smiled and decided that it would be better to explain while Viktor was still wrestling with duvet covers.

“No, not married, just boyfriends. We’ve been together for nearly five years now. I suppose marriage is in the future, but…” He trailed off, picking at his fingers anxiously, looking around as if searching for something. “Hey, listen. Me and Viktor… Well, because I’m the main counsellor for E2, and he’s your teacher… We’re not exactly supposed to be more than housemates, which the school believes us to be. So-“

“I won’t say anything.” Otabek said, his deep tone cutting off Yuuri’s anxious rambling. The Japanese man exhaled gratefully. “But on one condition.”

Of course. Nothing came easily. Yuuri forced a smile. “Yes?”

“You don’t tell anyone about…” Otabek gestured to his wrists, and then to the unconscious Yuri on the couch. “Yuri would freak if people found out that he stayed the night at his teacher’s house.”

“I won’t say anything about you staying here. But Yuri’s under eighteen, so I can’t stay quiet about whatever is happening at home. I’m not going to assume anything, but it’s pretty obvious that there’s some abuse or neglect happening at home, and since you’ve told me that you’re being beaten it’s legally my duty of care to help.” Otabek started protesting, but Yuuri held a hand up to cut him off. “Otabek, you and Yuri both deserve to be safe. I’ll do whatever I can to make that happen. Okay?”

The Kazakh sighed in defeat and nodded.

“Thank you. Now, do you have any other injuries?”

* * *

 

Viktor stared at the bed, admiring his handiwork and trying to distract himself from the feelings of concern and guilt that were fogging his brain. Every time he closed his eyes the image of Otabek’s wrists flashed behind his eyelids and he kicked himself for not _realising._ Not realising the abuse, the self-harm, the pain and fear that his students lived with. If only he had been more observant.

“No. You tried your best, this isn’t your fault.” He had to vocally remind himself that he had done the best he could, that he had to focus on making things better for them in the future. What’s done was done. He took a couple of deep breaths to ground himself, glanced once more at the very inviting bed that he had made, and stepped back into the living room.

Otabek was slumped on the couch, holding an icepack to his ribs, eyes closed and frowning. Yuuri was slowly packing away the first aid supplies and talking gently; probably recalling pointless stories to fill the silence and ease Otabek’s anxiety. With uncharacteristic grace, Viktor sat next to his boyfriend, rubbing small circles into his back.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Yuuri leaned against him and let out a small sigh. “Had some bruising on his ribs, but that should heal. It’ll just be sore for a few days. His eye will take a little longer to fix itself up, and his wrists… I’ll have to keep a close eye on them.”

 Viktor hummed low. “It could always be worse, my dear. You’ve done brilliantly.”

“So have you.” He kissed the tip of Viktor’s nose, smiling happily for the first time that evening.

As the two of them sat on the couch, Viktor replayed the evening’s events in his mind over and over again. Certain images refused to leave him alone: blood covering Otabek’s face. Infected cuts. Yuri’s pale hand falling limp at his side. It was barely past dinner time, wasn’t even fully dark outside, but Viktor was exhausted. No doubt Yuuri was too, and Otabek could have been mistaken for being asleep if it wasn’t for the way he winced when he moved the ice pack along his ribs.

His mind wandered to his other students. Emil had been acting really strange lately- was everything okay with him? Leo was another student who refused to wear short sleeves despite the heat outside- would it be appropriate to intervene? Seung-gil didn’t have any friends, Jean’s black eye still hadn’t fully faded, Sara’s promiscuity and complete disregard of sexual health could sooner or later end up with her becoming sick.

So many students, so many problems, and no idea how to help any of them.

The logical part of his mind _knew_ that he couldn’t be expected to fix them or even get them to open up to him. That he was responsible for education, not mental wellbeing. But the logical part of his mind was clouded with pictures of blood and cuts and quite frankly, Viktor would sell his god damn soul if it meant those kids could be happy.

He sighed, feeling the beginnings of another stress headache in his right temple, and just wanted to curl up in bed.

“Vitya? Lovely, is everything okay?” Yuuri’s calming voice brought him back to reality. He loved his voice- always so calm, kind, patient. A small reminder that not everything was bad.

“Yeah. Just, y’know. Thinking.” He kissed Yuuri’s temple and turned to Otabek, wanting a distraction. “So, Otabek… I noticed that you’re doing well in literature. Do you like reading?”

The topic was a shot in the dark, but hey, he was willing to try anything.

Surprisingly, Otabek seemed willing to go along with it. “I do.” He confirmed, placing the now-warm ice pack on the table. “I read a lot at home.”

“Who’s your favourite author?”

The Kazakh paused. Then, “Steven King. Or James Herbert.”

“Ah, so, thriller-type stuff then? Although you were one of the only ones in class who seemed to enjoy Shakespeare before we changed.”

“I’m neutral to Shakespeare. Some of his stuff is okay, but other pieces are a bit dull.”

Viktor smiled, opened his mouth to agree, however a groan and rustling sound to his right pulled his attention away from the topic of literature. That conversation paled in comparison to the conflicts that were about to ensue. And to think Viktor had been daydreaming about sleep.

All three of them turned to the source and watched in relative concern, caution, and apprehension as Yuri’s eyes fluttered open.

They were brilliantly green in contrast to his white skin and blond hair. Slightly bloodshot, either from crying or fatigue, and very angry-looking.

“Where the fuck am I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Question- would you guys like to see more smaller sections from other student's POV? Like I did with Emil last chapter? Just to maybe explore their backstory, feelings towards Viktor, etc.
> 
> Please leave a comment if you're able to- it really encourages me to write more. <3


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so so much for the lovely comments I've received for these past couple of chapters !! I've read every single one of them, and you guys seem to like other character POV's, so I included a couple more in this chapter. But of course it still focuses mainly around Yuri/Otabek and Yuuri/Viktor.   
> This chapter includes some good news and a glimmer of hope, but also angst (naturally). And a huge ass cliffhanger. Oops
> 
> CW: discussion of abuse, implied sexual abuse, implied suicide attempt at the very end

Otabek felt Yuuri tense next to him and could only assume that he and Viktor were exchanging nervous glances. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that shit would hit the fan as soon as Yuri realised where he was, and that they were no doubt perceiving him as vulnerable. If there was one thing Yuri Plisetsky would die protecting, it was his damn ego.

A small part of Otabek wished that someone else would deal with this; he was just so fucking tired and Yuuri’s mentions of a spare bed sounded extremely inviting, especially when his head was pounding and he was beginning to feel the pain from him injuries as the adrenaline faded. And even though he cared for Yuri, would do anything for him, had risked himself to stop him from getting hurt, the boy was difficult to handle sometimes.

Still… If any of them had any hope of putting water on the fire, it wasn’t going to be Yuuri or Viktor.

“I’ll deal with this.” Otabek mumbled somewhat reluctantly. He pushed himself up from the couch- stopping to steady himself as his head swam- and crept towards Yuri, where he slowly lowered himself so as to not jostle the boy. “Hey.” He whispered, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from his face. “How are you feeling?”

Yuri blinked up at him. “Beka? Where am I? What happened to your face?”

“Don’t worry about that now.” Otabek chuckled lightly (anything to keep Yuri calm) and continued stroking his friend’s hair. He knew that Yuri loved having his hair played with, and now was a good time to use that weakness to his advantage. “How’s your head?”

With great effort, Yuri raised a hand to rub at his eyes and his temples, checking for bumps or abrasions. The past events would come back to him, slowly. But for now all he was able to do was lie exhausted on Viktor and Yuuri’s couch.

“Um… Fine, I suppose? Why are you lookin’ at me like I’ve lost a leg?”

“Am I? Sorry.” He bit his lip and made himself visibly relax; being stressed would only result in Yuri being even more agitated. At the moment he was simply putting a sticker over a puncture. Buying time, until he could… do something. Think of the right words to say.

Not that Otabek had ever been good with words.

“Is this a- why am I on a couch? My mother doesn’t have comfy cushions like this.”

“We… We’re not at your mother’s anymore, Yuri.”

The blond frowned. “What? Am I dreaming?”

“No, not anymore. You slept for an hour or two but you’re awake now. And you’re safe.”

That wasn’t the right thing to say, and Otabek realised that as soon as the words left his lips. Yuri’s frown deepened and he blinked hard a few times.

“Safe? From what? Where’s my mother?”

“Don’t worry about that. Are you, uh, sure your head is okay?”

“Otabek, cut the shit, what the fuck is going-“

Before Otabek could stop him, Yuri propped himself up on his elbows and made direct eye contact with the two men who were sitting awkwardly across from him. His words sat on the tip of his tongue, but they had frozen in place. Those green eyes turned frosty and the wall of defence built itself back up before Otabek even had a chance to let out the breath he was holding.

“Hey, Yuri.” Viktor waved uncomfortably, unnerved by the steely glare he was receiving. “I know this is, uh, _different_ , but uh… Do you remember what happened?”

Yuri just stared. And stared, and stared, until Otabek was convinced someone had pressed pause on him and he was destined to be frozen forever. At least that would avoid the ensuring argument.

Unfortunately, someone then pressed play, and he swore Yuri actually _snarled._

“What the _fuck!_ How did… Why did… No, wait, you knew about this? What the fuck is going on!”

Otabek ran his hands through his hair, evidently conflicted. “Yuri, it’s okay. They just want to help. Viktor picked us up after… y’know.”

“ _No,_ I’ve got no idea what you mean. And why the fuck is the school counsellor here? Did you call a shrink?”

He was red in the face, hands clenching and unclenching, fidgeting uncomfortably. No doubt every cell in his body was screaming for him to get far, far away from the apartment he was sat in.

“We’re here to look after you, Yuri. I know you don’t like the idea of that, however that is what you need right now. Whether you agree with me or not.” Yuuri tried to talk some sense into him, never raising his voice above its natural volume. Otabek was grateful for that- he hated shouting. And loud noises in general. They gave him a headache.

“’ _Look after me’_? What the fuck does that mean? I’m not a god damn baby.”

“We know you’ve been through a lot, Yuri-“ Viktor was close to begging. He was too exhausted to be dealing with this. Of course, he was glad Yuri was awake and healthy (healthy enough to get characteristically angry, anyway), but being shouted at was only making his evening more stress-filled than it already was. He didn’t even get to finish his sentence before he was cut off again.

“You don’t know shit about me, old man. Beka, did you tell them something?”

“Can you please just listen-“

“No, fuck you! I don’t know what you think you know about me, but you don’t get to suddenly pull on your big boy boots and pretend you care! We’re not in school, you ain’t getting paid for this, so don’t fucking bother.”

That hurt, Viktor couldn’t deny it. But he had to remind himself who they were dealing with. Yuri threw insults around like confetti, and of course he’d bring Viktor’s job into this; Yuri had never received appropriate care from an adult figure so naturally he would be guarded and do whatever he could to keep his walls up. How Otabek had managed to get Yuri to let him in was a mystery. Viktor pressed his lips together and let his boyfriend try to calm him down.

“Yuri, we promise we want to help, we’re worried about you! You were unconscious for a while and you must have been under significant stress-“

“Oh my God, leave me the fuck alone. I don’t even know why I’m here. Otabek, we’re leaving. Come on.”

Yuri stood up, wobbling slightly, but paused when Otabek didn’t make any move to follow. The blond raised an eyebrow at his friend. “What? We’re in our fuckin’ teacher’s house and you’re _fine_ with that? How hard did you bash your head?”

Otabek twisted his fingers together in a way that had to be painful. As he did so, Yuri caught a glimpse of the bandages under his sleeves, and then for the first time he noticed the first aid kit that sat on the coffee table.

This entire situation was like a jigsaw puzzle and it stressed him the fuck out. So many questions sat bitterly at the back of his throat. Either his pride or his genuine confusion stopped them from erupting. Until he got answers, he was left in limbo.

“You’re really not freaking out right now?” Yuri sat down again. His head was swimming, but he disguised his discomfort by throwing a glare in Yuuri’s direction. The Japanese man smiled sadly in return.

Brilliant. Things were going real fucking peachy. He still had no idea why his entire body felt like shit and why they kept looking at him sadly.

“Yuri… Do you really not remember?” Viktor asked. When he was met with a blank stare, he turned to Yuuri, mumbling things about hospital and concussion.

The h-word was like a pin in his balloon of pride. Yuri groaned. “Remember what, old man? I passed out right around the time my mother’s boyfriend started punching Beka. Which only happened because Beka pushed me behind him so he could take the hits rather than me. So, no, sorry for not fucking remembering what happened while I was unconscious. Next time I’ll remember to put on my body cam before going to see my shit stain of a mother.”

He was shouting, hand curled tightly into fists, digging his nails into the fleshy part of his hands. Otabek was on him in an instant- wrapping a strong arm around his shoulders and tapping the backs of his knuckles until Yuri relaxed. Something told Viktor that this had happened before. He was beginning to understand why they spent so much time around each other.

“Hey, it’s okay.” The Kazakh whispered, comforting him in a way Viktor and Yuuri would never be able to. Yuri was difficult, they all knew that. After almost five minutes he still looked ready to punch something.

“How the fuck did we even get here?” He was loud enough to be heard by all of them, however the question was aimed towards Otabek.

“Viktor was parked outside. I carried you out after he-“ Otabek gestured towards his injured face “-and he called out to me, so I got in his car and he took us here. Your mother’s boyfriend, I… I think he had a knife Yura. I don’t think we can go back there.”

Both adults were shocked to see that Otabek looked to be near tears. Saying everything out loud must have made it sink in a little more, and only now was he realising how much danger they had been in. Yuuri had to stop himself from reaching out to put a comforting hand on Otabek’s arm.

Fortunately, the threat of tears made Yuri’s mouth snap shut. He was as surprised as the other two. He didn’t know what to do- evidenced by his hesitant hand movements and the way he was frowning. In the end, he just blinked and chewed on his bottom lip, looking back and forth between Yuuri and Viktor.

“A… a knife?”

Viktor nodded sadly.

“Fuck.” The blond laughed bitterly. “That would have been a way to go.”

“Now do you understand why we brought you here? Otabek was injured, so we took care of him. He also had-“ Yuuri glanced at Otabek, asking for permission to tell. Otabek nodded once. “-uh, a lot of infected wounds up his arms. We took care of that, too. And you were sleeping on our couch because Otabek explained that you were exhausted and needed the rest. That’s what happened. We’re here to look after you.”

Yuri still didn’t want to believe it. His entire life had been spent learning the hard way that you couldn’t trust adults with anything. Nobody genuinely wanted to look after him, nobody actually cared about his wellbeing. If he stepped out of line he’d get his ass beat and no meals for a week. Why the fuck were these geezers any different?

He glanced at Otabek. And then stared at his bandages, at the neat strips that kept the cut above his eye closed, and remembered how impossibly hard it was to gain Otabek’s trust. Only he had that trust.

But if Otabek had allowed them to touch him, let alone see his cuts (which Yuri _knew_ were going to end up getting infected, for fucks sake), then… maybe they were telling the truth?

He still didn’t believe it. But the couch was soft and no knife-wielding maniacs would find them here.

“Fine. But if you _really_ want to look after me, then I’m fucking starving and I want to have a shower.”

* * *

 

The park behind the school had always been disgusting, but now apparently the cleaner had died or some shit, because the trash cans were overflowing and someone had spray-painted a variety of racial slurs across the slide. Sara questioned why Mila had wanted to meet here, but only in her head. Mila wasn’t the kind of person you said no to.

“It’s fucked, really, ain’t it?” The redhead said, black-painted lips parted from around her cigarette. If you looked closely, you could see a ring of black around the filter.

“What is?”

“Like, all this.” She gestured broadly around her. “Everything. This town, this park, the people. The whole fuckin’ lot. It’s all fucked.” Pausing to take a drag, Mila locked eyes with Sara. The wind changed direction at the exact wrong time and the smoke from the exhale blew directly into the brunette’s face; though Sara didn’t say a word in protest despite being asthmatic. Mila wasn’t the kind of person you protested against, either.

“Yeah. Not that we’ve ever known anything better.”

“I coulda done. If my daddy had managed to pass me off to those creepy rich guys who he brought home so they could call me beautiful, I could be far away from this shit hole. Y’know, like, lounging in a hot tub somewhere exotic.”

“Prostituting yourself to weirdos who are forty years older than you.” Sara rolled her eyes, used to her friend’s ludicrous fantasies by now. Mila simply laughed and took another drag.

“Nah, prostituting is more your thing, ain’t it honey?”

 Sara stayed silent and forced a smile.

It was way, way past the kindergarten bedtime that Michele enforced on her every night. No doubt he’d be going crazy, working himself into a real state, convinced that she was dead or snorting coke somewhere or anything completely ridiculous. And when she’d try to silently slip through the door later, he’d be on her in a second. Scolding her for not following his rules. Saying how she’s going to end up a junkie if she insisted on misbehaving and doing thoughtless things. Like always, she would just nod and apologise and do the exact same thing the very next night.

It wasn’t his fault that he was protective. That was what their childhood therapist had told them, anyway. Brothers had a natural instinct to protect their siblings- especially if they had been through something traumatic together.

‘Cause yeah, _poor them,_ the little Crispinos sobbing because their crackhead parents had accidentally taken too much and ended up in a funeral parlour. Silly oblivious Sara crying because she didn’t understand why mommy and daddy were gone. Devastated Michele who knew a little bit more, could piece some things together, left with the responsibility to be the man of the house and take care of his twin.

Sara scoffed at the memory. _Protective._ Maybe he had been, once upon a time, but that had long since bloomed into an obsessive ideology of possession.

He wasn’t a bad guy, Micky. She loved him in her own way. But he was like a snake around a rat to her; choking, suffocating, never releasing his grip, never letting go, never letting her gasp for air, and so what if she went out and fucked random guys sometimes? So what if they gave her money as a thank-you for her letting them face-fuck her in a gross alleyway? To her, it was a big middle finger to the handcuffs Michele kept her in.

She wasn’t ashamed of it. But Mila’s tone stung a little; it was like she was making fun of Sara for doing what she did.

Of course, she didn’t say anything.

Mila wasn’t the kind of person you stood up to.

“I wonder where Yuri and Otabek were these past couple days.” Sara muttered, explicitly changing the subject to one she knew Mila would be interested in. Sure enough, the response was immediate.

“I _know,_ I swear I go through withdrawal when he isn’t there. His face is like a drug to me.”

“Jesus, you’ve never sounded more like a gross lovesick teenager.”

Mila made a face. “What? He’s hot. I bet he’s _great_ in bed. If he wasn’t, like, totally gay for Yuri, I would have had that Kazakh dick a long time ago.”

“That’s the only thing you want from him? Dick? After you called _me_ a whore?”

The two of them grinned at each other. Mila stubbed her cigarette out on the bench and threw it somewhere to the left of her. “Come on, it’s not like he’d be good at conversation. I just wanna rip his clothes off and-“

“Spare me the details.” Sara laughed, playfully nudging her friend with her shoulder, refusing to let her mind wander to what Mila was thinking of. Okay, Altin _was_ undeniable hot- but he was also only 5 foot 6 and permanently glued to Plisetsky’s side. So neither of them had any chance.

“Anyway,” she begun, wanting to change the subject, “how’s things at home? Your mom still abroad?”

Mila immediately rolled her eyes and reached into her pocket in search of another cigarette. When she came up empty she groaned. “Yep, still in Croatia and fucking her boy toy. Most likely completely forgot all about me since I ain’t got as much as a fuckin’ phone call for nearly three months.” She laughed bitterly, tucking her hair behind her ears. Sara stared a little, admiring the countless piercings. She had never been able to get her ears pierced. Her parents wouldn’t pay for it, and Michele would go crazy if she tried to now. But perhaps that was a reason to get them done. She’d have to ask Mila where she went for them.

“Shit, that blows. Sorry babe.”

The redhead shrugged. “Bitch can choke for all I fuckin’ care. Besides, daddy left his house to me so other than school I’m pretty much free. Well, until he gets out of prison that is, but that’s decades into the future and by that time I’ll be rich and married off to a hot Spanish guy.”

Sara laughed awkwardly.

Mila was… a confusing girl. She’d had a pretty fucked up childhood- like they all had- and as a result her head wasn’t in the right place a lot of the time. Last week, Sara had asked the same question, and Mila had said her mother was on a work trip in Germany and called her every weekend with updates and check-ups. Either she lied to hide the unpleasant reality, or the various stories she made up in her head had gotten so messed up that she didn’t know truth from tale anymore.

Her daddy was another matter. Rumours were powerful things, and Sara quickly decided she’d rather believe Mila’s rendition of the story- that he was locked up for fraud- rather than the game of Chinese whispers that spoke about possession of child pornography and assisted drug trafficking.

(But considering the 50-year sentence, not even opaque black walls could hide the reality.)

She glanced over her friend. Brown eyes locked with icy blue ones for just a second, and in that fleeting moment Sara saw an amount of pain she’d never be able to forget. Mila’s mascara had smudged from the days stress and made her look ten years older. She was slumped over, idly kicking the ground below her, humming a song that Sara could probably recognise if she tried, but didn’t have the energy to.

Maybe she tried to be tough, tried to start fights in the school yard and turned up drunk once a week, however her bitten nails and sleeve cuffs that had faded from being played with suggested otherwise.

Sara looked at her hair, and her makeup, and decided that she wouldn’t get her ears pierced after all.

Because she had enough of her own shit to deal with. And she didn’t want to look like Mila.

Mila Babicheva wasn’t the kind of person you got close to.

* * *

 

“I’ve got a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yeah. It’s flawed in many ways but it’s better than nothing right now.”

Yuuri stared at the assortment of documents spread out on the coffee table before him, one hand massaging his temples and the other holding his third mug of tea of the evening. Some sheets had been pulled from long-forgotten storage boxes, cupboards containing files from his uni days- even a decade-old phonebook sat proudly in the centre of the brown oak. The printer had been connected only so he could print conversation screenshots from his phone, as well as a few contact details. His plan was rocky, required a little bit of luck, and was nowhere near guaranteed to work. But it was something.

Viktor sat opposite him, smiling encouragingly in his direction. “Well? What is it? And what’s with all this paper?”

Yuuri shuffled a few sheets around. “Most of them are old uni documents, training notes, that sort of thing.” He picked up one in particular and handed it to his boyfriend. “That’s an old friend of mine. Phichit Chulanont. We roomed together in uni, and he moved back to Thailand after he got his social working degree.”

“He’s cute.” Viktor smiled politely, but then frowned. “What has he got to do with our situation, exactly?”

“ _Because,”_ Yuuri smirked, evidently proud of himself, “he works in child protection. Specifically with teenagers who come from rough backgrounds, and he did a minor course in housing and business. So…”

He watched as it gradually dawned on Viktor. First the man maintained his confused frown, which then softened into a slight crease between his eyebrows. Then, like a lightbulb being switched on, his entire face lit up and he stared at Yuuri with wide eyes.

“Y-you mean…? Really? Get them their own place to live?”

Yuuri giggled, amused at his boyfriend’s adorable surprise. “Well, we can both agree that Yuri cannot go back to living at home, what with his mother and the obvious danger there. The town council isn’t going to want to deal with another kid potentially going into foster care. He _is_ sixteen, so it’s perfectly legal for him to have his own place. And it isn’t like Otabek is going to turn down the offer.”

“That’s- oh, baby, you’re a genius! I’m dating a genius.” Viktor leaned over the table to press a kiss against Yuuri’s nose. “When can we get started? Does he speak English? What’s the time zone in Thailand?”

“Ah, well, that’s the problem.” Yuuri deflated slightly. He pulled the phone book over to him, plus the phone contact print-offs, and jabbed a finger at them. “I lost contact with him after he moved, and his old numbers redirect me so some dodgy Thai phone company. Finding him again is going to be a challenge. Besides, even if I _can_ track him down, I have no idea if he’d be willing to fly out here and help us with this shit. There’s going to be legal documents, paperwork to sign, the full nine yards, and there’s the issue with Yuri’s mother potentially putting up a fight, and oh _fuck_ his sick grandfather needs help too, and-“

“Hey, calm down. We’ve got a starting point, da? We’ll find him. I’m a master of social media stalking: just you watch me.” Viktor winked, tapping the bump in his jacket pocket where his phone was kept. “Judging by Yuri’s description of her, his mother is too drunk to notice him half the time, so there will be no legal fight. This is gonna be okay. You did good, baby, real good.”

He kissed him again, deeply this time. Feeling the heat of his lips against his own. Viktor was tempted to grab the front of his shirt to deepen their embrace- but then the bathroom door unlocked and they sprang apart. Yuri and Otabek were finished in the shower (either joint or separate; Viktor didn’t really want to know) and they were both probably exhausted and wanted to be shown to their room.

“Let’s tell them after we get more information.” Viktor suggested. Yuuri nodded, pushed himself up, and left to direct the teenagers to their bed for the night.

From his seat on the couch he could hear Yuuri’s concerned questions regarding how they were feeling. Did they need any more ice, painkillers, anything else to eat before they went to bed? Naturally, Yuri responded with a crass _“we’re just tired, stop fretting like a mother hen”_ but Viktor was pleased to hear Otabek mumble a quiet _“everything is fine, thank you, sir”._ The hallway went silent as Yuuri showed them to their room.

Viktor closed his eyes, succumbing to the heaviness of his eyelids. It had been a long, stressful day. He thought back to when he had been parked in a random driveway on Yuri’s street, contemplating leaving and giving up, and was so fucking glad he had decided to hang on for just ten more minutes. Even if the prospect of a warm meal and cuddling his boyfriend was calling him. If he had decided to leave… fuck. His class may have become even smaller. He would never have forgiven himself.

Maybe it was his childhood dreams of being a superhero that were resurfacing, but Viktor could admit that he felt slightly proud of himself. He was the first to acknowledge that he wasn’t great at controlling his emotions some of the time, yet he had managed to keep it together long enough to help the kids. And so what if he was planning on having a little stress cry on Yuuri’s chest later- he deserved it, and no-one needed to know. Their trash can was full of blood stained tissues and bandage wrappers and he hadn’t even shed a tear yet.

His intentions of wresting his eyes for a second apparently got out of hand. Viktor awoke to Yuuri carding his fingers through his silver hair, smiling sweetly, looking just as beautiful as he had when he first set eyes on him.

“Hey, lovely.” He whispered. Voice like silk. “The boys passed out almost immediately. Let’s go to bed now, yeah?”

Viktor sighed in relief, his hand reaching out to clasp Yuuri’s. “Yeah. It’s been crazy today, huh?”

A small laugh, and Yuuri helped Viktor to his feet. He nodded in agreement as the two of them made their way to the bathroom.

“You think they’ll be okay?” Viktor asked through a mouthful of toothpaste foam. Anyone else would have found it gross, but to Yuuri it was endearing.

“Yeah. We can try to find Phichit tomorrow, and also get some groceries ‘cause I suppose they’re going to be staying with us until we can figure something out.”

“Oh, fuck, yeah, I didn’t even think of that. Is that even… legal?” A lawsuit for kidnapping was the last thing Viktor wanted to deal with. He rinsed his mouth out and splashed his face with warm water.

“You shouldn’t rinse after brushing. It gets rid of the fluoride on your teeth.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And we don’t really have any other choice but to house them here, do we? We’re lucky they’re both 16 or over, otherwise we might have had a couple issues. We’ll be fine.”

Viktor recognised that tone: Yuuri used it whenever he was trying to convince himself of something, rather than reassuring someone else. Still, his words sounded accurate, and the comforts were better than nothing, so Viktor decided that it’d be fine. Too late to think about all that, anyway. It was too late and they were too tired.

“Goodnight, my love.” Yuuri whispered when they were finally swathed in their duvet.

“Goodnight. Thank you for today, for everything.”

“Always. You did the right thing.”

Viktor smiled. For once, he agreed.

* * *

 

The boy was sat outside on the cool concrete steps that led to an old building. Perhaps it was an abandoned town hall, or an ancient block of flats that fell into disrepair years ago. It didn’t matter either way; it was too dark for him to be seen, too dangerous to come close, too irrelevant for anyone to care.

Trash littered the pavement. Rats crawled around by the overturned cans, searching for scraps, making a mess that would never be cleaned up. He couldn’t see them, but he could hear them fighting and running over each other. The thought made his skin crawl.

(Most of his thoughts lately made his skin crawl.)

His vision was becoming blurry. After-effects of having the shit beaten out of him, just because he had said no to the sick games his father had wanted to play, but it was whatever. He wouldn’t have to worry about all that soon. Soon, the guilt would fall off his shoulders, and he would no longer have to carry years of self-disgust that clung like chains tied to his ankles. Soon.

How he got to the building was a mystery- the hours he had spent walking in any direction had been lost in a dissociated blur, a gust of wind that blew over him and carried away the echo of the pain in his head. He might have been five miles away from his home. No, ten. Twenty? Distance was irrelevant. It was all in the past, everything that had happened, no point in worrying about it now.

He didn’t want to do this. Truly, he just wanted things to get better, he didn’t want to take drastic action. But his mind was a cesspit and his father was a monster and ‘better’ was a foreign language to him.

Sometimes, you had to do the opposite of what you wanted.

He sighed.

The concrete steps were cold and the building was abandoned and Emil was grateful for the spot he had chosen because here, no kids would find him, no innocent old ladies would be traumatised. Only druggies and gangs hung out where the rats played.

Emil held the blade against his wrist and pressed as hard as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and please take 20 secs to leave a comment if you can!! It really helps me keep writing because I rely solely on positive reinforcement and attention from others lmao (tbh this fic is at least partially a vent fic)
> 
> Special thanks to those who let me know what they think of each chapter. I struggle with replying to comments, but I promise every one is loved and appreciated with my entire heart
> 
> lov yall


	12. XII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's Big Mood: Emil is a dumbass, Phichit is an angel, Michele is emo  
> (CW for this chap: self harm mention, blood mention, sexual assault mention, eating disorder mention. The last two are very brief but I'd recommend skipping Emil's part if the first three upset you.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JOIN OUR YURI ON ICE ROLEPLAY!  
> I joined a yuri on ice discord-based RP group the other day and it's so fun, everyone is super chill and lovely. We're looking for more characters such as JJ, Sara, Emil, Michele and more! The list can be found at yuri-on-ice-rp-server.tumblr.com.  
> Just send a message to yuri-on-ice-rp-server.tumblr.com to reserve your space! The characters are on a first come, first served basis so you better nyoom. They'll send you the link (you need a tumblr account, just create a throwaway one OR alternatively PM me on fanfiction.net under jadedcrystalide), which you can just copy and paste into your browser, it will prompt you to create an account and then (hacker voice) you're in. Come chat with me and roleplay some good good bois  
> I sound like an advertiser but im just rlly excited tbhh
> 
> I hope ya'll enjoy this chapter uwu

It wasn’t poetic, or like something out of a movie. He didn’t sleepily blink his eyes open to be greeted with the view of a hospital room, friends and family crowded around him, holding his hands and climbing over each other to ask him if he was okay. He wasn’t lulled awake by the sound of a heart monitor beeping only to crash hard and want to fall back into unconsciousness again when he realised he had failed.

No, it didn’t play out anything like that, because Emil never even lost consciousness. As soon as the skin on the delicate part of his wrist parted and a stream of blood clouded his vision, something inside of him snapped. He threw the sharp object away from him as far as he could- somewhere in the general direction of the trash cans- and _screamed._

(In retrospect, perhaps this wasn’t the best suicide method for someone with an adverse fear of blood).

He was found quickly, fortunately, and an ambulance was called. The entire time he just sat with his head between his knees, hyperventilating, not able to pay attention to the kind stranger who sat with him and squeezed his wrist hard to stop him from losing too much blood. It was nightmarish. What the fuck was he thinking? He didn’t want to _die,_ he should have just run away and become a male escort or a street sale vendor. There were plenty of other ways out of his situation and he had to pick the most dramatic one.

The sound of his father’s voice echoing in his head almost dissociated him from the wail of ambulance sirens. That raspy growl, telling him that he had _failed once again,_ that he was useless. The feel of his rough fingers over Emil’s skin. The smirk he held, predatory and disgusting.

Emil threw up just as the paramedics reached him.

 “Hello, love, what’s your name? I’m Adhira. Can you open your eyes?”

She was a kind-looking woman, all black hair and smiles, white teeth looking pretty against her brown skin. Emil decided he could trust her.

“E-Emil.” He swallowed and the acid made his throat burn. “Am I going to die? Th-That was my aim, but, I-I’m not so sure now-“

“No, love, we’re going to take care of you.”

Other paramedics surrounded him and Emil just sighed.

He wanted to sleep. He wanted a glass of water. He wanted his father to be arrested and left to rot in prison for what he had done to him.

So, when Adhira asked him if anything specific caused his suicide attempt, he didn’t hesitate to look her in the eye and reveal the truth. His words, _“my father sexually abuses me”,_ made her visibly flinch, but made him feel so fucking _free._

* * *

 

Phichit Chulanont was a slippery fucker. Those were Viktor’s exact words, muttered to himself as he poured over page 22 of Google Search results. His laptop screen was a mess of disorganised search tabs, Facebook profiles, Thai lawyer websites and discontinued South East Asian phone numbers- and yet, three hours later, he was still clueless. One false hope about a Phichit Chulanont who turned out to be a vet was enough to deflate his expectations.

Yuuri had taken Otabek and Yuri out grocery shopping once they had woken up, which surprisingly made Yuri alter his expression from ‘scarily pissed’ to ‘only moderately annoyed’. The promise that he could pick up whatever snacks he liked was enough to make him stop threatening the two of them and actually put his shoes on.

So, Viktor was left alone with the simple task of finding Yuuri’s old college friend. Only the task was beginning to seem impossible and he was becoming more and more frustrated as time when on. Seriously, who didn’t have at least _one_ Facebook account?

He was ready to throw in the towel when his phone buzzed and the screen lit up with a text notification from Yuuri. Viktor smirked, expecting to see an “SOS” message begging him to save him from grocery-store manic Yuri Plisetsky.

What he got instead was an Instagram page link.

 _‘Found him! Xxx’_ The following text read, and Viktor was all but ready to throw his phone against the nearest wall because of course Yuuri could locate him with no trouble whatsoever.

He clicked the link with only a small amount of distaste and was immediately sucked into a page of hamster pictures, selfies, sunset shots and the occasional meal picture. Phichit was a cute-looking man, with a face that didn’t seem to suit his age or profession, but Viktor wasn’t one to judge. He was just relieved that he had a way to contact him.

Finger hovering over the ‘send message’ option, he took a moment to think about what they were doing. In little over a month, he had gone from casual cover teacher to Viktor Nikiforov: full time class co-ordinator slash temporary carer of two damaged kids slash social media protégée. It was a transformation that he definitely wasn’t expecting, however it was on his shoulders now and he had responsibilities.

Yuuri crashed through the door a little while later, clutching an overwhelming amount of grocery bags. He was red in the face and had stress lines between his eyebrows. Any other time, Viktor would have found it cute, but now he just pressed his lips together and watched as his boyfriend let the bags fall on the floor as he rubbed at the red idents on his arms from the plastic handles.

“Everything okay?” Viktor all but whispered. Yuri and Otabek were lurking in the doorway and he felt like he needed permission to break the silence.

“Yep!” Yuuri smiled and gestured behind him at the teenagers. “Can you two help me pack the food away? Just throw the tins in the cupboard and the frozen stuff in the cooler.” Surprisingly, there was little protest as Otabek herded Yuri into the kitchen, and when they were out of sight Yuuri sighed loudly.

“Oh my god. I know teenage boys eat a lot, but an underweight, upset, and _hungry_ teenage boy is like an entirely new species.”

Viktor couldn’t help but chuckle. Okay, _that_ was cute.

“How much did the bill-?”

“Don’t. Just don’t even ask that.” Yuuri collapsed into the chair next to him and lay his head on Viktor’s shoulder, ignoring the way his boyfriend chuckled. “So, did you message Phichit? It was a stroke of luck, really, that I found his Instagram. He’s always changing his username and I accidentally deleted my account so I lost him, and then he came up in my recommendations.”

Viktor shook his head slightly. “No, I thought you should message him. He knows you better, after all, right?”

Yuuri blinked a few times as if he suddenly came to the same realisation. “Oh. Yes. That would make sense. Well, you go help them unpack-“ the smirk on his face made Viktor wince “-while I explain what’s going on.”

Viktor could hear the hushed conversation that the teenagers were having, and before he joined them to move the food from bag to cupboard, he hung back to watch and listen in.

“Beka.” Yuri hissed, shoving a box of microwavable pizzas in Otabek’s face. “There’s so much _food._ What do I eat first?”

Otabek smiled in the subtle way that only Yuri recognised. He hesitated, looking around him, then passed him an entire bar of chocolate. “This.”

“All of it?” Yuri gaped.

“As much as you want.”

Viktor smiled to himself as Yuri tore the wrapper off and shoved a huge chuck of chocolate into his mouth. He ate with a sense of desperation, him and Yuuri had realised the night before, as if someone was going to take his food away or he wasn’t going to get any more for a long time. The two of them came to the sad realisation that those scenarios were probably the reality, so they didn’t comment or raise eyebrows when Yuri asked for third helpings or insisted on swallowing the fatty parts of meat that people usually left behind. Otabek ate in a much more contained way, however he, too, didn’t turn down the offer of seconds.

Watching them now, laughing about the food they had, made Viktor happy. It made him sad, too, of course- nobody should be this excited over basic necessities- but it also evoked a sensation of happiness and _pride._ This was evidence that he was making a difference. He could see with his own eyes that he was helping them.

That was all he could ever ask of himself.

* * *

 

Yuuri sent the message, and luck was on their side for once, because Phichit was constantly on social media and responded almost immediately. He was delighted that Yuuri reached out and said how much he missed his best friend- and, most importantly, said he would be honoured to help Yuri and Otabek get their own place.

Viktor had to physically contain himself so he didn’t shriek with joy and alert the teenagers, who would be staying until their situation was sorted out. No protests came from this, something that Viktor was shocked about, but put that down to the fact that they now had a source of food and a safe place to sleep. He and Yuuri decided to keep from telling them about the possibility of them getting their own place. They didn’t want to get their hopes up only to let them down if it didn’t work out.

But for now, things seemed to be falling into place. Yuuri insisted on paying for Phichit’s plane ticket and the man would be arriving Tuesday afternoon, meaning that Viktor would have to get someone to cover his class for a couple of days. He couldn’t deal with teaching on top of all the legal work they had to sort out.

Yuuri informed him that Phichit expected a law suit to go down since Yuri’s mother still claimed child tax on him. If he legally moved out and emancipated himself from her, the money would go down the drain.

A court hearing loomed all too quickly. Viktor realised that soon, he might be meeting mother Plisetskaya. The woman who could so carelessly abuse and neglect her child for his entire life.

The thought disturbed him.

* * *

 

“Okay, okay, settle down. Mister Nikiforov is off for a couple days, so I have been appointed to teach you all of these… subjects.” Christophe gestured vaguely at the piles of math and English books, a grimace on his face. He had no idea what he was doing.

“I have no idea what I’m doing. I know how to talk about herpes and where to get free condoms, not algebra and maths, so you’ll all have to bear with me. But I’m going to try my best and I expect you all to as well.” He smiled triumphantly and nodded at a raised hand at the back of the room. “Yes, what’s up? And who are you?”

“Um, Minami Kenjirou, sir. And algebra is part of math. Just so you know.” Minami clasped his hands together excitedly and Chris was amazed that his smile didn’t fall as the rest of the class groaned.

“Right. Well, that shows how much I know about all this, but no fear! I have mastered the art of improvising. Right, everyone- that includes whoever is pretending to be asleep in the corner over there- open your textbooks to page twenty-five. The lesson plan says to complete questions one to six, so, just… do that I guess. I won’t know the answer to any questions you may have so Google them instead of asking me.”

Michele turned to Seung-gil, who sleepily rubbed his eyes and sat upright. He noticed as soon as he walked in how oddly quiet the class was. There were no threats being directed towards JJ from Plisetsky, no whoops of joy from Emil about having a cover teacher (a cover teacher to cover the cover teacher, ironically) and therefore no obligation to do any work. Otabek was hardly a loud person, but his intimidating presence had disappeared from its looming position in the corner. Michele didn’t like it. It felt weird and he wanted answers.

“Oi,” he said with no air of friendliness, “where is everyone? Why do we have the sex ed guy teaching us history?”

Seung-gil stared back with that creepy look of his and shrugged. “Do not know. Do not care. I will sleep.” And then he put his head back down on the desk and Michele wondered why he had even bothered.

He rolled his eyes and leaned backwards on his chair to invade Leo and Guang Hong’s personal space, fixing them with a raised eyebrow. “Do you two know where everyone is?”

Truthfully, he didn’t know what to do with himself without Emil around to entertain him. The boy could be annoying, sure- he never stopped talking and his mood swings exhausted even the most resilient of people- but he was fucking funny. He was good company and after his weird outburst the other day… Michele worried about him. It wasn’t like Emil to take a day off school, surprisingly, let alone without warning. Him and Minami had the highest attendances in the class. So this was uncharacteristic.

Guang Hong shrugged, but Leo’s brow creased as he thought about it a little more. “I’m not too sure, but…” he begun, crossing his arms over him, “Yuri wasn’t here at all last week, was he? Otabek showed up most of the time but I don’t think he was here on Friday. Emil had a fucking breakdown last week. Dude, I used to share a class with Emil before we were put in E2, and he has some _issues,_ so… _”_

Michele could hear the implicit suggestions in Leo’s tone and he didn’t like it. He pursed his lips. “Like, Yuri Plisetsky-level issues, or-?”

“It’s hard to compare. He isn’t an _angry_ person, per say.” Leo was choosing his words carefully. “He just always had a certain aura about him. Like he was either going to hug you or throw a chair at you. Which, yes, he did once, to a teacher. He would suddenly start crying out of nowhere and refused to let people touch him. He’s a nice guy, but… he’s just fucking weird.”

“So he skipped class to have another meltdown?”

“Perhaps. Or he caught a bug over the weekend. I’ve got no idea, Micky, you’re his mate. I just think it’s weird how Plisetsky was off all week, and then Otabek, and now even the teacher isn’t showing up.”

“And Emil.” Michele supplied.

Leo nodded. “Yeah. And Emil.”

Michele turned back around, eyes looking in the general direction of his text book but not focusing on the words. A horrible feeling had lodged itself in the pit of his stomach and he wished he had asked Emil what was going on with him sooner. Fuck, if he was having trouble at home, Michele wouldn’t have minded him crashing at his and Sara’s place. Once the two of them had turned 16 they had rented an apartment for themselves to get out of the foster system and had plenty of room to spare.

He would wait for a couple of days, and then he would go to Emil’s house and ask his parents what was up. Emil’s father gave him the creeps but he would tolerate that for the knowledge that his friend was okay.

Without the usual arguments, gossip and snide remarks towards the teacher, the class was eerily calm. It was a breath of fresh air when JJ started talking about himself to Minami too loudly and Mila told him to shut the fuck up, accompanied by a pen flying in his direction. Giacometti had glanced up from his book, nodded as if he understood Mila’s actions, and promptly went back to the novel he was using to distract himself. He didn’t even bat an eyelid at the sight of Seung-gil sleeping at his desk again.

“This is so weird.” Guang Hong said. “I almost _want_ someone to start flipping tables. When was the last time the class was this quiet?”

“God, way back. You weren’t here yet. There were seven of us: me, Michele, Sara, Emil, two girls called Sam and Leah, and a boy called… Jake? Jason? Something like that.”

“James.” A voice piped up, and Sara turned to face them. Michele followed suit until the four of them were crowding around one table, work long forgotten. Giacometti either didn’t notice, didn’t care, or was also asleep at his desk at this point. Leo snapped his fingers at her and nodded.

“Yeah! James, that was it. He was a fucking weirdo. Anyway, in the space of a week the class sized halved ‘coz there was a spontaneous police dog search and loads of people in here got busted for possession. They were sent to, like, juvie or schools that were specifically designed for “problem kids”.” He demonstrated air quotes around that phrase and rolled his eyes. “So it was just the seven of us. The two girls were both 18 and actually managed to pass their entry exams so they went off somewhere else. JJ and Otabek were brought in sometime during their transition. This was… God, what, four years ago?”

Michele nodded slowly, resting his chin in his palm, listening to the old stories. So much had happened since then that they had almost forgot about that echo of peace within E2.

“No-one knows what happened to James.” Sara frowned. “He was taken to hospital after collapsing one day. He was severely anorexic and his heart stopped.” She shrugged, looking sad for a moment. Then the expression was gone. “Then Yuri, Mila, you and Minami. Seung-gil was the most recent. Hence why no-one knows much about him.”

Sara didn’t bother lowering her voice for that last part; Seung-gil was dead to the world, and besides, they weren’t too sure if he knew enough English to understand. The rare occasions he spoke were with a very thick accent, yet he always seemed to be listening in. It was unnerving.

“Gosh.” Guang Hong fiddled anxiously with his pen. “That’s… a lot.” The rest of them nodded in agreement.

Despite the conflicts within the class, they all had the same fucked up connection that set them far, far apart from the rest of the school. A mutual understanding of what it was like to be considered the worst of the worst, insufferable and plagued with issues that sent teachers running and kept other kids at a distance. You didn’t volunteer to cover E2; you crossed your fingers and prayed for any other option. You didn’t walk past an E2 student in the hallway; you turned around and found another route to your class. A school of three thousand, and every single one of them held the same opinion about those eleven students: you didn’t go anywhere them.

That was part of the reason why they had come to tolerate Nikiforov. The man was like a carpet stain: they didn’t _like_ him, but he wasn’t going away any time soon. And they could grudgingly admit that he was making a difference. A few of them were scraping passing grades in math and English, which usually sounded like less than the bare minimum, but for them it was a god given miracle. Attendance rates were only ‘unsatisfactory’ rather than ‘completely unacceptable’. Yuri hadn’t got into one physical fight with JJ for weeks.

Of course, there would always be issues: Seung-gil still slept through class, Leo dissociated at every opportunity available, Minami maintained his refusal to take his ADHD meds. It was no secret that the majority of them self-harmed. Many had shitty home situations. Otabek didn’t talk and Mila relied too much on alcohol and weed to get through the day.

But they showed up at 9am and stayed until 3 now. They had stationary, attempted their homework, contributed to class discussions with only minimal threats and swearing. There was no longer the sense of a ticking bomb in the class and someone was only one wrong move away from making another explode. No-one else had ever managed to accomplish something like that, but it seemed Nikiforov had done the impossible.

Michele sighed. There was a sense of calm inside him, a quiet and restful feeling that felt foreign but appreciated. However he couldn’t swallow the dread that clung to the inside of his throat, refusing to let go, forcing him to keep his mind on Emil and look back on all the warning signs that he had missed.

He hoped it was just useless anxiety. He hoped that his friend would walk through the door at any moment, all smiles and jokes, holding himself tall in his 6-foot glory and laughing about anything and everything.

But his brain forced him to think of the despair in his friend’s eyes that was always masked by humour, the concerning jokes that he had made, the cries for help that Michele was too selfish to acknowledge.

He hoped he was just being paranoid.

He really, really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the train journey towards the end my dudes. It's been a wild ride and I've loved having you all here with me along the way. (But don't worry, several more chaps still to come!!) Thank you all so much for your comments thus far, every single one has inspired me to keep writing:^)  
> Leave a comment if you liked it! It really helps me out :^) also join our rp group and chat w/ me  
> love yall

**Author's Note:**

> i hope its ok !!!


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